MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS 
FIELDS 


MAPLE  LEAVES  IN 
FLANDERS    FIELDS 


BY 

HERBERT    RAE 


WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

ADMIRAL  SIR  ALBERT  MARKHAM,  K.C.B. 


NEW   YORK 

E.    P.    BUTTON    AND    COMPANY 

681   FIFTH  AVENUE 

1916 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


TO 

MAJOE-GENEKAL  A.   W.  CUEKIE,   C.B. 

1st  CANADIAN  DIVISION 


3bli)4o 


INTRODUCTION 

The  writer  of  the  following  pages  has  done  me  the 
honour  of  inviting  me  to  act  as  sponsor  to  his  book, 
by  adding  an  introduction. 

Having  read  the  contents  very  carefully,  I  have 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  an  introduction, 
especially  from  my  pen,  is  absolutely  unnecessary; 
and  I  am  confident  that  the  readers  of  this  book, 
before  they  have  read  many  pages,  will  cordially 
concur  with  me.  Nevertheless,  I  have  gladly  and 
willingly  consented  to  do  so. 

In  the  first  place  I  would  Hke  to  offer  my  con- 
gratulations to  the  author,  for  the  charming  and 
appropriate  title  he  has  selected  for  his  book.  No 
better  name  could  have  been  chosen;  none  more 
suitable. 

The  ''  Maple  Leaves  "  will,  I  feel  sure,  never 
wither,  but  will  always  flourish,  fresh  and  verdant, 

vii 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

for  many  years  to  come  over  the  "  Fields  "  of  the 
English-speaking  people  in  every  part  of  the 
civilized  world. 

Personally  I  am  glad  to  associate  myself  with 
anything  emanating  from  a  Canadian  source.  I 
am  proud  to  number  many  Canadians  among  my 
friends  at  the  front,  for  all  of  whom  I  entertain  a 
profound  respect,  love,  and  admiration;  and  I  am 
therefore  delighted,  and  honoured,  in  being  afforded 
the  opportunity  of  assisting  in  the  launch  of  this 
latest  Canadian  venture  on  the  stormy  sea  of 
literature.  If  I  can  in  any  way  help  in  giving  it 
a  fair  wind  on  its  first  voyage,  it  will  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  do  so. 

Although  all  the  names  in  this  work  are  fictitious 
(including  the  author's),  many  of  the  persons 
mentioned  are  well  known  to  me,  and  I  can  there- 
fore more  fully  appreciate  the  jokes  and  witticisms 
herein  related,  better,  perhaps,  than  others  who 
are  not  so  well  known  to  them.  The  book  is, 
practically,  a  narration  of  the  experiences  of  some 
of  the  members  belonging  to  the  first  Canadian 
Contingent  that  crossed  the  Atlantic  to  aid  us  in 
this  world-wide  war. 


INTEODUCTION  ix 

It  is  the  story  of  Canadians  by  a  Canadian,  and 
is  well  and  graphically  told.  It  is  written  in  a 
light  and  humorous  style.  It  touches  briefly  on 
the  formation  of  the  Contingent  in  Canada,  its 
organization  at  Valcartier,  its  training  on  Salisbury 
Plain,  until  eventually  it  was  turned  out,  a  finished 
article,  ready  to  fight  on  the  battle-fields  of  France 
and  Flanders. 

How  splendidly  they  have  fought  is  a  matter 
of  universal  knowledge  and  admiration. 

This  should  be  sufficient  introduction,  but  the 
book  does  more.  It  not  only  draws  our  attention, 
very  strikingly,  to  the  gallant  fighting  qualities 
and  capabilities  of  our  brave  Canadians,  but  it 
also  depicts  in  a  most  interesting  fashion  their  love 
of  fun,  their  quaint  humour,  their  caustic  wit,  their 
typical  whimsicalities,  their  endurance  while  under- 
going hardships  and  privations  of  no  ordinary 
character,  their  fortitude,  and,  above  all,  their 
determination  to  exhibit  to  the  world  at  large,  and 
to  our  enemies  in  particular,  their  loyalty  to  the 
Flag,  and  their  intention  to  uphold  and  maintain 
the  integrity  of  the  Empire. 

The  dash  and  heroism  they  have  displayed  are 


X  INTRODUCTION 

here  pictured  modestly,  with  much  pathos  and 
with  considerable  ability. 

It  is  not  fot  me  to  enlarge  on  their  noble  and 
gallant  achievements,  but  I  would  like  to  draw 
attention  to  the  incident  related  on  pages  74 
and  84  as  illustrating  the  spirit  and  the  pluck  that 
prevail  and  animate  the  men,  as  shown  in  the 
heroism  and  death  of  Private  Brown. 

That  touching  event  will  last  for  all  time  as  a 
glorious  epic  of  Canadian  history  ! 

The  book  must  be  read  to  be  appreciated;  and 
I  have  no  hesitation  in  acceding  to  the  author's 
request  of  bestowing  on  it  my  benediction—for 
what  it  is  worth — and  of  commending  it  to  the 
notice  and  patronage  of  the  reading  public. 

A.  H.  MARKHAM. 
Seftemher,  19 1 6. 


CONTENTS 

PAfiB 

DEDICATION                -                ....  y 

INTRODUCTION           -                -                -  -  -  vii 

CHAPTER 

I.    NEWS   OF   BATTLE    -                .                -  -  -  1 

II.    FROM  WEST  TO   EAST             -                -  -  -  18 

III.  THE   OLD   COUNTRY                  -                -  -  -  32 

IV.  LA   BELLE  FRANCE  -                -                -  -  -  59 
V.    OLD   TIMERS   AND   TENDERFEET        -  -  -  71 

VI.    THE   GLORY   OF   WAR              -                -  -  -  90 

VII.    FLOUNDERING   IN   FLANDERS              -  -  -  .   120 

VIII.    THE   CITY   OF  DISTRESS         -                -  -  -  139 

IX.   THE   ROAR   OF   BATTLE           -                -  -  -  159 

X.   THE   DOINGS   OF  SOME   DETAILS        -  -  -  179 

XI.    "  AND   RESTED  THE   SEVENTH   DAY  "  -  -  191 

XII.   OUT  TO   GRASS           -                -                -  -  -  207 

Xm.   THE   SERIOUS   SIDE   OF  WAR               -  -  -  216 

XIV.    THE   GREY   MAN         -                -                -  -  -  231 

XV.   GATHERING   IN   THE   SHEAVES            -  -  -  243 

XVI.    ALL   IS   VANITY          -                ...  -  258 


XI 


.  »  ■ 


MAPLE  LEAVES 
IN  FLANDERS   FIELDS 


CHAPTER  I 

NEWS  OF  BATTLE 

So  it  had  come  at  last:  the  last  rehearsal  was 
finished  and  the  curtain  finally  rung  up.  We 
dwellers  on  the  coast  could  only  hold  our  breath 
and  wonder.  There  was  a  murmur  in  the  air,  and 
the  east  wind,  as  it  came  to  us  from  across  the 
mountains,  carried  with  it  a  faint  whisper,  the 
subdued  rattle  of  the  European  millions  arming. 

Were  we  to  be  in  it,  too  ? 

In  Grant  and  Dover  Streets,  where  we  wandered 
unable  to  sit  still  in  the  ofhce,  men  were  dis- 
cussing this  problem.  For  on  the  Old  Country's 
decision  everything  depended;  no  one  doubted 
where  Canada's  duty  would  lead  her.  There  were 
those  of  us  who  were  ''  broke,"  and  they  were 
indeed  happy;  a  steady  job,  while  it  lasted,  meant 
a  respite  from  their  difficulties,  immunity  from 
importunate  tradesmen,  and  plenty  of  excitement ! 

The  married  men  in  those  days  had  many  heart- 

1 


2  MAPLE  Lii^AVES  IN  FLAInDERS  FIELDS 

searchings:  the  single  men  might  be  taken  before 
them,  or  their  wives  might  object  to  let  them  go. 

The  newspapers  seized  the  opportunity  and 
gleaned  a  golden  harvest.  Special  editions  ap- 
peared by  the  half -hour,  and  were  as  rapidly  bought 
up.  Militia  officers,  not  yet  in  the  glory  of  their 
war-paint,  paraded  the  side-walks  in  twos  and 
threes,  or  paused  in  groups  to  exchange  ideas. 
They  were  authorities,  pretending  a  knowledge 
which  they  probably  did  not  possess,  while  the 
mere  civilians  hung  breathless  on  their  remarks. 
The  clubs  were  crowded  with  anxious  business 
men,  too  excited  to  talk  business,  and  the  bars 
conducted  a  feverish  trade;  while  new-born  tacti- 
cians and  budding  strategists  consumed  a  wealth 
of  ''  hooch,"  and  propounded  schemes  which 
became  more  involved  and  impossible,  with  each 
libation  poured  down  their  thirsty  throats. 

In  the  office  the  telephone  was  seldom  silent. 
Godley  of  the  Cape  Police  and  Gates  of  Strath- 
cona's  Horse,  dropping  in  to  see  Murphy  of  the 
Sherwood  Foresters,  delighted  the  stenographer  by 
the  cheeriness  of  their  greeting  as  they  hammered 
on  the  office  door. 

Are  you  going  to  Europe  ?  Where  can  I  volun- 
teer ?  Is  there  any  use  wiring  Ottawa  ^  Nobody 
waited  for  an  answer.  Belgium  was  in  flames, 
that  was  enough;  the  Empire  must  declare  war  or 
be  classed  for  ever  with  the  yellow  races. 

Gates  and  Godley,  wandering  into  the  telegraph- 


NEWS  OF  BATTLE  3 

office,  collided  with  Waldie  of  the ''  Rifles,"  sHnking 
out  unobtrusively,  but  with  a  satisfied  light  of 
accomphshment  in  his  eye.  ''  Just  been  wiring 
to  Calgary  about  some  oil  shares,"  he  murmured 
by  way  of  explanation. 

''  Damned  liar  !"  muttered  Gates  as  they  watched 
him  walk  down  the  street.  ''  He's  on  the  Ottawa 
racket  too." 

''  What  are  you  going  to  say  ?"  asked  Godley. 

Ex-pohceman  desires  appointment  as  Colonel  in 

Canadian  Militia.     Experience  of  three  campaigns. 

Formerly  in  employ  of  Cape  Government.     Speaks 

Kaffir  and  Dutch.'     How  would  that  go  ?" 

"  Might  get  you  a  job  of  night-watchman  in 
a  concentration  camp,"  answered  Gates. 

Coming  out  of  the  office  they  bumped  into 
Pollock  of  the  Gordons  hurrying  in,  so  preoccupied 
that  he  did  not  see  them. 

''Whither  away,  gentle  stranger?"  asked  the 
imperturbable  Godley.  ''  Wiring  money  to  Calgary 
for  oil  shares  ?" 

"  Oil  shares  be  damned  !  I'm  wiring  to  tell  my 
wife  to  come  home;  she's  up  the  coast,"  answered 
Pollock  as  he  dashed  into  the  office. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Gates,  as  he  and  Godley 
strolled  down  the  street,  ''  if  there  are  any  honest 
men  left  in  the  city,  or  if  they're  all  liars." 

Then  came  the  announcement,  the  glorious 
stirring  news:  war  had  been  declared.  Belgium, 
crushed  beneath  the  heel  of  the  invader,  with  its 


4  MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

bloodstained  smoking  ruins,  was  to  be  avenged. 
For  the  timid  ones  there  was  food  for  thought. 
H.M.C.S.  Spindrift  disappeared  into  the  night; 
our  two  other  naval  units,  the  Lark  and  the  Linnet, 
were  said  to  be  far  away  in  the  south.  Of  course, 
this  was  probably  only  a  rumour,  but  as  such  it 
did  not  tend  to  add  to  the  cheerfulness  of  the  more 
timid. 

There  were  stories  of  a  German  squadron  off  the 
coast,  and  we  all  agreed  that  the  Olympic  Hotel 
and  the  Universe  Building,  with  its  eighteen  stories, 
would  make  a  splendid  target. 

There  were  our  submarines,  thanks  to  the  fore- 
sight of  the  man  at  the  head  of  affairs;  and  hot- 
foot from  the  East  big  guns  to  command  the  outer 
harbour  were  hustled  along  the  ringing  metals. 

During  the  day  we  walked  the  streets,  and  the 
nights  we  spent  in  searching  out  old  uniforms, 
cleaning  revolvers,  and  greasing  boots.  These 
were  anxious  moments,  too,  for  those  who  paused 
to  think,  and  for  those  who  had  friends  and  relations 
in  the  Old  Country.  ''  Where  was  the  Fleet  ?" 
"  What  of  the  food-supply  ?" 

But,  though  we  were  at  war,  few  in  the  city 
realized  the  real  import  of  the  matter.  A  short, 
sharp  campaign,  the  German  Navy  swept  from  the 
seas,  a  victorious  British  army  in  Flanders,  and 
a  triumphal  entry  into  Berhn — that  was  our  idea. 
The  knowing  militia  officers,  self-constituted 
oracles,  said  at  most  a  nine  months'  affair,  and 


NEWS  OF  BATTLE  5 

smiled  in  a  sympathetic  manner  as  thougli  pitying 
the  poor  Germans.  Others  were  even  more  opti- 
mistic, as  the  news  from  the  East  flashed  through 
the  message: 

NAVAL   BATTLE   IN  THE  NORTH   SEA. 

GREAT   BRITISH   VICTORY! 

THIRTY-TWO  GERMAN  WAR  VESSELS  SUNK  ! 

This  news,  and  other  items  as  startling,  filtered 
across  the  Continent,  and  the  specials  fell  from 
the  news  ofhce  like  leaves  in  autumn,  and  for  every 
leaf  a  nickel,  and  for  every  nickel  a  lie.  But  no 
one  cared  so  long  as  the  lies  were  good  and  com- 
forting. 

All  this  time  the  recruiting-officers  were  busy, 
and  would-be  warriors  swarmed  in  to  swear  to 
bear  true  allegiance  to  His  Majesty.  It  was  like 
an  oil  boom,  or  the  subdivision  of  a  new  town 
site;  offices  sprang  into  existence,  crowds  waited 
at  the  doors,  and,  inside,  the  investors  made  their 
deposits.  This  was  no  idle  punting  in  oil  shares 
or  mining  stock;  it  was  a  solid  investment  in  flesh 
and  blood,  with  the  fortune  of  an  Empire  and  the 
future  of  a  great  Dominion  in  the  balance. 

In  Grant  Street  the  "  Jocks  "  drove  a  roaring 
trade.  With  keen  business  ability,  inherited  from 
generations  of  impecunious  cattle-stealing  ancestors, 
gradually  toned  down  to  meet  more  modern  com- 
mercial requirements,  they  stuck  out  their  shingle 


6  MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

in  the  main  thoroughfare.  As  in  a  well-run  depart- 
mental store,  they  believed  in  window-dressing,  and 
four  stalwart  kilties  on  the  threshold  bore  witness 
to  the  excellence  of  the  goods  purveyed  inside. 

Further  east  the  Fusiliers,  with  equal  enterprise, 
sought  for  those  who,  always  ''  agin  the  Govern- 
ment "  in  times  of  peace,  are  just  the  opposite  in 
times  of  war.  Green  or  Orange,  it  matters  not; 
these  little  tif!s  are  soon  forgotten  when  the  Hun 
is  at  the  gate. 

On  the  Campus,  in  the  dignified  seclusion  of  their 
ancient  armoury,  sought  rather  than  seeking,  was 
the  old  regiment. 

Day  by  day  the  recruits  swarmed  in.  Such 
recruits  were  surely  never  seen  before.  The  woods 
disgorged  them,  the  mountains  shook  them  clear; 
they  deserted  from  the  ships  and  the  harbour, 
they  hit  the  ties  from  across  the  great  divide. 
The  mines,  the  camps,  the  canneries  and  the 
orchards,  all  sent  their  share. 

The  Doctor,  persistent,  profane,  particular, 
measured  their  heights  and  chests — this  for  a 
matter  of  form,  for  scarcely  one  but  exceeded  the 
requirements  prescribed  by  many  inches.  But 
there  were  fingers  gnawed  of!  by  frost-bite,  and  the 
axe  had  taken  its  toll  of  many  toes,  and  these 
deficiencies  had  to  be  carefully  sorted  out  and 
weighed  in  the  balance. 

Pete  Sornson  from  Fort  Charles  was  deficient 
of  a  hand,  and  kept  the  stump  carefully  concealed 


NEWS  OF  BATTLE  7 

behind  his  back,  until  told  to  spread  his  fingers 
out.  That  ditched  him !  Andie  Mack  from 
Squamish,  with  a  wooden  leg,  the  result  of  a  badly 
primed  dynamite  cartridge,  kept  the  fact  con- 
cealed until  told  to  take  his  trousers  down.  Private 
Purdy,  late  of  the  Argyll  and  Sutherland  High- 
landers, who  had  suffered  from  blistered  knees  on 
the  banks  of  the  Modder,  insisted  on  seeing  ten 
spots  where  there  were  only  five.  Fresh  air  and 
exercise  was  his  portion,  until  such  time  as  he  was 
sober  enough  to  see  his  way  through  the  eyesight 
test. 

There  were  lumbermen  and  railwaymen,  pro- 
spectors, surveyors,  bankers,  brokers,  stokers, 
teamsters,  carpenters,  and  schoolmasters.  Many 
had  not  seen  a  city  for  months,  and  they  were 
frequently  drunk ;  but  the  material !  Grosvenor 
the  much  harassed  adjutant's  eyes  sparkled  as  he 
looked  at  them.  ''  Guardsmen  every  one  of 
them  1  Doc,  you  silly  old  ass  1  what  do  you  mean 
by  ploughing  that  man  ?" 

"  He's  got  flat-feet." 

"  Flat-feet  be  bio  wed  !  He  walked  two  hundred 
miles  to  join  !" 

The  great  majority  were  Canadian  or  Old 
Country  born,  but  there  were  Americans,  who 
were  not  too  proud  to  fight,  Austrahans  hanker- 
ing after  a  contract  and  muttering  about  their 
''  Union."  There  were  Russians,  Frenchmen, 
Indians,  and  Servians. 


8  MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEKS  FIELDS 

Japanese  and  Hindoos  also  presented  them- 
selves, but  regarding  them  we  had  no  instructions. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  This  to  a  grizzled 
veteran  of  juvenile  appearance,  but  doubtful  age. 

''  I  want  to  'list." 

''  I  thought  you  were  in  Egypt  with  Wolseley — 
at  least,  you  wore  the  medals  at  the  last  Paardeberg 
dinner." 

*'  Well,  I  haven't  got  them  on  now.  What's  the 
age  limit  ?" 

''  Forty-three." 

"  Well,  I'm  just  forty -two." 

*'  Then  you  must  have  been  a  drummer-boy  at 
Tel-el-kebir." 

Thus  the  work  went  on,  The  Colonel  swore 
them  in,  the  Doctor  sweated,  and  the  Adjutant 
danced  on  everyone  all  round.  Then  a  serious 
mandate  came  through  from  the  East,  the  all- 
powerful  East,  where  the  wise  men  sat  and  where 
all  our  eyes  were  turned.  No  married  man  was 
to  join  the  Expeditionary  Force  without  first 
obtaining  his  wife's  permission.  In  certain  cases 
I  do  not  doubt  that  this  was  easily  procured,  but 
in  others — No !  Yet  the  women  were  not  slow  to 
do  their  part,  and  in  the  light  of  after-events  some 
must  remember  this.  A  few  words  on  a  scrap  of 
paper,  a  stroke  of  the  pen,  that  was  all. 

Few,  I  expect,  thought  what  it  would  mean,  yet 
many  women  must  be  proud  to-day,  to  think  how 
they  gave  their  all. 


NEWS  OF  BATTLE  9 

Most  of  the  men  wanted  foreign  service;  a  few 
stuck  out  for  home  defence.  Theirs  was  the 
harder  lot;  ties  of  family  or  business  kept  them 
where  at  the  moment  they  least  desired  to  be. 
Some  hoped  to  come  later;  others  knew  that  they 
must  stay. 

The  officers  waited  near  the  door  of  the  drill 
hall,  catching  the  likely  ones  as  they  sauntered  in. 
Captain  John  Wallace,  long,  lean  and  leathery, 
spoke  to  them  in  dulcet  tones,  as  befitting  one  who 
combined  a  city  councillorship  with  the  sale  of 
water  frontage. 

A  good  soldier,  John;  he  might  have  been  a 
Jesuit,  and  would  have  made  a  hit  as  a  private 
detective.  We  called  him  '*  Honest  John  "  when 
we  got  to  know  him  better,  but  as  he  stood  at  the 
armoury  door,  and  filled  the  ranks  of  his  company 
with  all  the  best  men;  his  brother  officers  referred 
to  him  as  the  "  Pirate  "  and  the  "  Thief." 

Corporal  McQueen,  poet,  philosopher,  and 
thinker,  six  feet  three  of  measured  humour,  aided 
and  abetted  him  in  his  nefarious  practices.  Cor- 
poral McQueen  ought  to  have  been  rejected  on 
about  twenty-seven  different  medical  grounds, 
including  old  age  and  club-feet,  but  Honest  John 
said — No ! 

Everyone  was  busy.  The  smartest  men  were 
snapped  up  the  moment  they  set  foot  in  the  hall. 
The  best  seemed  to  go  into  the  machine-gun  team, 
already  known  as  the  suicide  club.     The  pioneer 


10         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

sergeant  was  on  the  look  out  for  carpenters;  the 
sergeant  cook  for  French  chefs. 

Enter  a  stetson  hat,  a  sunburnt  face,  two  grey 
eyes,  a  red  knotted  handkerchief,  and  a  bunch  of 
muscle.  The  apparition  salutes  with  the  snap  of 
a  steel  trap  and  stands  smartly  to  attention, 
answering  to  the  name  of  Edwin  Fearless. 

''  Where  do  you  come  from  ?"  inquires  the 
delighted  Captain  Grosvenor,  joy  shining  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Mexico,  sir.  Been  running  a  bit  of  gaspipe 
for  Villa.     He  called  it  a  machine-gun." 

''  Any  previous  experience  ?" 

''Yes,  sir:  Cambridge  Bugshooters,  French 
Foreign  Legion,  and  Natal  Carbineers." 

"  All  right;  you'll  report  to  the  machine-gun 
squad." 

Exit  the  hat. 

Enter  a  six  foot  two  of  ancient  edifice,  gone  at 
the  knees,  spavined  and  stringhalt  in  both  hind- 
legs. 

''  Where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Ladies'  bathing  beach,  Point  Jackson." 

"  The  devil  !     What  do  you  do  there  ?" 

''  Save  lives." 

"  Sure  you  don't  mean  souls  ?  All  right;  report 
to  the  medical  detail." 

Any  old  thing  does  for  the  poultice  wallopers. 
They  and  the  sanitary  squad  are  the  despised  and 


NEWS  OF  BATTLE  11 

rejected  of  men.  Never  mind,  the  time  will  come 
when  the  destructive  combatant  forces  will  look 
to  the  constructive  ability  of  the  medical  unit, 
and  thank  the  gods  that  there  are  men  there  with 
knowledge  and  determination,  sufficient  to  pick  up 
the  pieces  and  snatch  bodies  from  the  firing-line. 

We  now  walk  about  openly  in  uniform.  This 
is  a  great  improvement.  Only  a  few  months  ago 
we  had  slunk  down  under  cover  of  the  night,  to 
help  in  quelling  the  coal  strike.  Butchers  we  were 
called,  and  the  small  boys — ay,  and  some  of  the 
larger  ones,  too — shouting  after  us  in  the  street, 
named  us  hired  assassins.  But  that  was  months 
ago;  and  some  of  these  same  miners  are  the  first 
to  enlist. 

Lieutenant  Puddiphat,  hovering  in  the  shadow 
of  the  gateway,  suddenly  observes  an  acquaintance, 
— a  recalcitrant  street-car  conductor  and  a  noted 
stump-orator  with  socialistic  tendencies. 

''  Hullo,  Rakes,  you  here  ?" 

"Yes;  why  not?" 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  weren't  in  favour  of  this 
sort  of  thing.  This  is  going  to  be  war,  and  I 
thought  war  wasn't  a  plank  in  your  platform." 

"  Not  a  war  in  the  ordinary  way;  this  is  different. 
I'm  just  as  keen  as  you  are  to  get  after  Kaiser 
Bill." 

The  days  passed  with  hard  work,  and  every  night 
the  tired  officers  returned  home,  meant  we  were 


12         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

nearer  the  end.  Gradually,  as  the  days  wore  on, 
order  arose  out  of  disorder.  The  hour  of  departure 
was  now  drawing  near.  Outside  on  the  square, 
officers  were  drilling  their  companies.  The  sig- 
nallers, climbing  to  the  summit  of  the  Universe 
Building,  exchanged  views  with  their  confreres  on 
the  parade  ground  below.  The  machine-guns 
coughed  and  spat  at  cavalry,  infantry,  and  other 
units,  always  advancing  in  mass  formation  at  a 
diverse  number  of  yards'  distance.  The  medical 
detail  marched  and  counter-marched,  and  tied  up 
devastating  wounds  and  set  fractures  in  front  of 
an  admiring  audience  of  small  boys,  hobos,  and 
Chinks.* 

At  nights  there  were  the  marches  through  the 
city  by  Grant  Street  and  down  to  Indian  Bay, 
and  the  return  to  the  drill-hall  with  the  band 
playing  the  old  regimental  tune, 

"  The  ninetieth  is  going  away, 
And  what  will  all  the  ladies  say  ?" 

and  so  on  with  blaring  trombones,  and  all  sorts 
of  complications  threatening  in  the  near  future. 

There  were  more  things  to  be  thought  of  than 
going  to  Germany,  for  in  those  days  we  never 
imagined  that  we  were  going  anywhere  else. 
Troops  had  to  be  sent  to  different  places  along 
the    coast,    and    garrisons    provided    for    various 

*  Canadian  tor  "  Chinaman." 


NEWS  OF  BATTLE  13 

strategic  points.  Behold  Captain  John  Wallace, 
Lieutenant  Bob  Beaufort,  and  the  Doctor,  depart- 
ing in  the  sma'  hours  of  the  morning,  on  board  of 
various  barges,  with  mysterious  consignments  of 
cargoes,  for  ''  somewhere  "  up  the  coast.  The  idea  of 
war,  the  sealed  nature  of  the  orders,  did  not  in  any 
way  affect  the  spirits  of  the  three  officers  and  sixty 
other  ranks.  A  delightful  day  for  a  cruise,  and 
the  knowledge  that  this  for  many  days  might  be 
their  last  look  on  the  waters  of  the  Sound.  Other 
troops  went  up  north  to  places  on  the  coast,  and 
detachments  left  for  the  interior  to  guard  the  rail- 
way line. 

The  Jocks  stole  a  march  on  us,  and  received 
their  orders  to  leave  for  the  East  before  us,  so  we 
went  down  to  bid  them  hon  voyage.  Very  fit 
they  looked  as  they  marched  to  the  station,  through 
a  crowd  such  as  the  city  had  never  seen  before. 
We  were  all  jealous  that  they  should  go  first,  but 
we  knew,  by  that  time,  that  we  were  to  follow  in 
two  days,  so  it  was  merely  au  revoir.  All  through 
the  Empire  these  same  scenes  were  being  enacted, 
troops  marching  to  tuck  of  drum,  men  cheering, 
women  crying,  and  all  with  eyes  turned  on  the 
common  objective,  Berlin. 

Then  our  turn  came.  From  the  armoury  down 
Grant  Street  to  the  Depot  the  old  regiment  marched. 
Major  O'Shea  was  in  command  of  the  overseas 
contingent,  an  old  campaigner  and  the  most  gallant 


14         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

of  officers.  The  Colonel  rode  beside  him,  doing  his 
best  to  smile,  but  all  too  sad  not  to  be  going  with 
us.  For  surely  those  who  were  left  behind  had 
the  harder  part.  To  us  who  were  going  away, 
there  was  promise  of  new  scenes  and  new  excite- 
ments, perhaps  for  some  of  us  honour  and  glory; 
but  for  those  we  were  leaving — what  ?  With  the 
band  playing  "  The  Girl  I  left  Behind  Me,"  we 
entrained. 

And  so  Eastward.  We  had  our  last  look  for 
many  days  on  the  waters  and  the  mountains  of 
the  West. 

Outside  on  the  platform  the  band  played  and 
handkerchiefs  fluttered.  We  bade  our  last  good- 
byes, the  train  began  to  move ;  we  were  of!.  East- 
ward through  the  snows,  the  pine  forests,  and 
passes  of  the  mountains.  Eastward  across  the 
rolling  miles  of  golden  prairie,  and  along  the  north 
shore  of  mighty  Lake  Superior.  Our  faces  set  to 
the  rising  sun,  with  ''  Berlin  or  bust !"  as  our 
motto,  freighted  with  a  little  bad,  but  much  good, 
we  passed  on  our  way. 

Major  O'Shea  was  in  command  of  the  train,  and 
in  addition  to  the  old  regiment  were  drafts  for  the 
Engineers  and  Army  Service  Corps.  We  now 
began  to  see  what  manner  of  man  our  O.C.  was. 
Everything  was  in  order ;  daily  the  whole  train  was 
inspected,  and  the  men  were  instructed  from  the 
start  in  arranging  their  kits  and  keeping  their 


NEWS  OF  BATTL^  15 

quarters  clean.  Once  a  day  the  troop  train  halted 
at  some  town  by  the  way,  and  for  an  hour  we 
route-marched. 

Never  were  such  well-behaved  troops.  Trouble  ? 
— there  was  none. 

''  What  sort  of  imitation  saints  are  these  we've 
got  on  board  the  train  ?"  demanded  the  Adjutant, 
in  a  speculative  mood,  at  one  of  the  stops  by  the 
wayside  in  the  mountains.  "  No  drunks,  nothing  ! 
Never  saw  such  queer  soldiers." 

''  They're  not  in  it  with  the  old  Clyde  Militia. 
Why,  we  used  to  have  to  turn  the  fire-hose  on  to 
them,  to  sober  them  up  !"  said  Mackintosh,  our 
redoubtable  Quartermaster. 

Our  wonderful  record  was  broken,  however, 
when  we  arrived  at  Cariboo  Cut.  I  regret  that 
there  was  one  who  strayed  from  the  path  of  total 
abstinence.  He  was  undoubtedly  Scotch — at  least, 
judging  by  his  accent  and  the  smell  of  his  breath. 
He  had  got  beyond  the  hiccoughing  stage;  so,  as 
the  train  gradually  pulled  out,  he  was  quietly 
dropped  off  the  back  step  of  the  last  car.  That 
was  enough;  no  better  punishment  could  have  been 
devised.  Pack-drill,  fining,  anything  would  have 
passed  unnoticed,  but  nobody  wanted  to  be  left 
behind.     ''  Berlin  or  bust !" 

Corporal  McQueen,  who,  for  all  his  twenty-seven 
bodily  deficiencies,  had  succeeded  in  convincing 
everybody  as  to  his  indispensability  to  the  success 


16         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

of  the  transcontinental  trip,  was  very  much  to 
the  fore.  At  every  stopping-place  he  was  the  first 
on  the  platform,  and  could  be  seen  gravely  march- 
ing up  and  down,  with  some  small  child,  preferably 
a  girl,  in  his  arms.  His  small  charge  he  fed  with 
candies,  while  he  flattered  the  mothers  in  a  manner 
entirely  his  own,  and  had  a  ready  answer  for  any 
flippant  remark  from  the  bystanders. 

At  every  station,  when  the  train  halted,  the 
citizens  came  to  cheer  us  on  our  way.  The  girls 
gave  us  fruit  and  candies,  and  here  we  were  be- 
sieged with  gossip.  Ten  thousand  Australians 
were  coming  across  the  continent  immediately 
behind  us.  The  Indian  army  was  also  going  to 
Europe  that  way.  We  heard  of  great  British 
victories,  the  Germans  hurled  back  on  their  own 
frontiers,  the  French  in  close  pursuit. 

We  now  began  to  talk  of  the  Germans  under 
new  names;  we  called  him  the  gentle  Hun,  and 
referred  to  him  familiarly  as  our  friend  the  Bosche. 
In  fact,  we  were  rapidly  acquiring  the  air  of  w^ar- 
worn  veterans. 

In  the  cars  it  was  very  much  as  any  other  trans- 
continental journey.  We  fed  very  frequently  and 
very  well;  we  played  poker  when  time  permitted; 
but  for  the  most  part  we  were  busy  getting  to 
know  our  men  and  brother  officers. 

After  some  pleasant  easy  days  we  were  decanted 
out  on  a  railroad  siding,  at  the  mercy  of  a  French 
Canadian  ofiicer  in  rubber  boots.    We  were  told 


NEWS  OF  THE  BATTLE  17 

that  we  had  arrived  at  Valcartier.  We  got  an 
impression  of  fir-trees  and  heather,  and  a  grey 
dawn  struggUng  through  a  dinging  mist.  We  fell 
out  of  the  train  and  fell  into  rank,  in  a  state  of 
sodden  depression,  and  here  we  waited  for  news 
and  orders. 


CHAPTER  II 

FKOM  WEST  TO  EAST 

In  the  early  morning  we  entered  the  city  of  tents, 
for  surely  it  was  right  to  call  it  a  city  ?     Even  in 
Canada,  the  country  of  mushroom  growths,  this 
must    have    constituted    a    record,    for    in    less 
than  two  weeks  the  ground  had  been  cleared  and 
the  timber  felled  to  make  room  for  a  camp  of 
nearly  50,000  men.     It  was  at  once  manifest  that 
someone  with  an  imagination  had  been  at  work. 
Rows  and  rows  of  tents  stretched  on  all  sides,  and 
disappeared  finally  into  the  distance,  horse-lines 
hung  on  the  flanks,   and  marquees  were  every- 
where.    As  we  marched  down  over  the  hill  the  sun 
behind  us  was  just  rising,  driving  the  mist  before 
it,  and  shining  on  the  white-peaked  tents.     Bugles 
were  sounding  reveille ;  in  the  Highlanders'  lines 
the  pipes  were  playing,  and  the  whole  camp  was 
beginning   to   hum   into   activity   and   life.     The 
Union  Flag  near  a  large  house  on  a  blufi  showed 
where  headquarters  were. 

Private  Macmickle  was  so  overcome  by  the 
spectacle  that  he  promptly  threw  a  fit,  and  the 
Doctor,  as  the  cry  of  ''  Stretcher-bearers  !"  went 

18 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  19 

up,  could  be  heard  muttering  all  manner  of  pro- 
fanities at  the  wretched  wight,  who  had  dared  to 
come  up  for  medical  examination  although  possess- 
ing such  abnormal  tendencies. 

Thus  we  entered  on  the  next  phase.  This  was 
a  time  of  doubt  and  uncertainty — doubt  because 
the  war  might  be  over  before  we  arrived  in  Europe, 
and  uncertainty  because  we  might  not  be  the  ones 
selected  to  go.  During  these  days  the  transport 
officer.  Lieutenant  Cousins,  who  shared  a  tent  with 
the  Quartermaster,  could  be  heard  lamenting  every 
German  failure  and  bemoaning  any  British  success, 
so  frightened  was  he  that  he  would  arrive  too  late  ! 

We  found  that  it  was  intended  to  send  a  division 
to  Europe.  Many  of  us  were  not  exactly  certain 
what  a  division  really  meant,  and  at  least  were 
by  no  means  familiar  with  all  the  intricacies  of 
ammunition  columns,  divisional  trains,  first-line 
transport,  and  army  veterinary  corps.  Some  of 
us  had  not  even  heard  that  such  things  existed. 

As  a  division  was  leaving  it  was  only  natural 
that  a  Western  Brigade  would  be  formed,   and 

with  the  conceution  came  the  consummation.     The 

J. 

regiments  composing  this  brigade  were  named  after 
the  four  western  provinces.  We  in  our  unit  were 
now  busy  trying  to  forget  whether  we  were 
"  Rifles  "  or  "  Irish  "  or  "  Eangers  "  or  "  Fusi- 
liers "  !  The  last  unit  to  join  us  came  from  the 
mountains.  They  marched  into  camp  in  pith- 
helmets,  and  looking  as  if  they  had  marched  across 


20         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  Sahara  Desert.  Talk  about  EngHsh !  they 
might  have  been  enlisted  in  Oxfordshire.  The 
Quartermaster  and  the  Doctor,  our  two  Scotsmen, 
had  one  look  at  them  and  went  over  to  discuss  the 
question  with  the  Jocks.  It  was  almost  more 
than  they  could  bear.  Ex-imperial  officers  swarmed 
in  their  ranks,  D.S.O.'s  were  rife  among  them,  and 
they  wore  medals  from  many  previous  campaigns. 

Gradually  we  began  to  settle  down  as  a  battalion. 
The  English  are  always  hard  to  assimilate,  as  they 
have  a  tendency  to  cling  to  everything  except  the 
present,  and  to  praise  up  everything  except  their 
immediate  surroundings !  Nobody  paid  much 
attention  to  the  grumbling  however,  and  certainly 
nobody  troubled.  Colonel  O'Shea  was  in  command 
of  the  battalion,  and  we  were  no  mean  part  of  a 
unit  which  later  was  to  make  history  in  its  own 
little  way — the  Western  Brigade.  The  Brigadier 
came  from  the  West,  and  gradually  we  began  to 
lean  on  him  as  on  the  anchor-man  in  a  tug-of-war 
team;  and  as  we  slowly  took  the  strain,  we  felt 
we  had  him  behind  us,  always  ready,  always 
wilhng,  to  help  us  in  every  way  to  support  the 
heat  and  burden  of  the  day. 

In  the  Pompadours  we  were  a  mixed  community. 
The  Colonel  and  the  Major  were  Canadian  veterans 
from  Paardeberg.  Few  of  our  senior  officers  but 
had  seen  service  in  some  distant  clime  and  country. 
The  medals  we  carried  embraced  everything  from 
the  Louis  Reil  Rebellion  to  the  last  Boxer  rising. 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  21 

And  it  was  not  only  in  war  that  the  officers  had 
gleaned  their  experience,  for  most  of  them  had  also 
in  the  sterner  times  of  peace  followed  many  trades 
throughout  the  world.  Few  were  the  occupations 
they  had  not  adorned  by  their  presence,  from 
selling  life  assurances  to  washing  gold  in  the  beds 
of  our  northern  rivers !  Some  had  tended  bar,  or 
cooked  on  the  C.P.R.;  others  came  from  the 
Mounted  Police  or  from  fruit  farms  on  the  lakes. 

With  the  men  it  was  in  no  wise  different.  Our 
greatest  scamp  had  a  University  degree,  the  face 
of  an  Adonis,  and  parted  his  curling  locks  in  the 
centre.  The  leading  exponent  of  the  ancient  game 
of  crown  and  anchor  had  the  refined  appearance 
and  austere  demeanour  of  Procurator  in  the  Holy 
Synod.  Our  strongest  man  was  a  one-eyed  Russian, 
the  most  cheerful  a  Greek.  The  Padre's  batman 
was  a  professional  boxer,  the  post-corporal  an 
actor.  In  minor  items  of  equipment,  such  as 
fingers,  toes,  and  ears,  we  were  at  times  extra- 
ordinarily deficient ;  our  best  shot  was  the  sergeant 
cook,  and  our  premier  bayonet-fighter  in  private 
life  was  a  bird  fancier.  Any  shght  omissions  in 
appendages  and  extremities  from  frost-bite  or 
careless  use  of  an  axe  did  not  in  the  least  detract 
from  our  efficiency  as  a  whole.  I  have  heard  us 
accused  of  being  rough,  so  much  so  that  when  we 
first  went  to  Belgium  evil-minded  people  said, 
''  What  has  the  poor  stricken  country  done  to 
deserve  this  ?"     In  any  case  we  were  certainly 


22         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

fcough,  and  after  all  we  were  the  first,  and  therefore 
the  more  willing. 

First  thing  the  Canadians  had  to  learn  was  to 
shoot,  and  in  the  clear  mountain  air  it  was  easy. 
In  a  few  days  a  gigantic  mammoth  of  a  digger  had 
scooped  a  trench  several  miles  in  extent,  and  with 
this  to  protect  the  markers  while  observing  the 
targets,  the  largest  rifle-range  in  the  world  had 
sprung  into  existence.  I  say  this  without  fear  of 
contradiction.  I  was  once  told  how  many  more 
targets  there  were  there  than  at  Bisley,  but  I 
forget  now.  Somebody  had  been  at  work,  some- 
one with  a  big  mind  and  the  faculty  of  getting 
things  done.  Here  whole  regiments  could  shoot 
at  one  time,  and  all  day  the  crack  of  rifles  could 
be  heard  as  we  learnt  to  use  our  weapons. 

There  were  field-days  over  beyond  the  river, 
where  we,  now  called  the  Pacific  Pompadours,  held 
a  position  against  the  rest  of  the  Western  Brigade, 
and  fell  back  fighting  to  the  last,  with  the  expendi- 
ture of  much  blank  ammunition  and  almost  one 
casualty ! 

It  was  the  Padre — brave  and  gallant  warrior  ! 
He  had  heard  that  in  falling  back  the  regiment 
had  left  one  of  its  number,  suffering  from  a  sprained 
ankle  or  some  such  malady,  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  Mistrusting  the  attitude  of  the  prairie 
farmers  (who  were  attacking  us)  towards  the 
Geneva  Convention,  the  reverend  gentleman  deter- 
mined on  a  rescue,  or  at  least  on  rendering  first 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  23 

aid.  Leaping  lightly  on  his  horse — the  Padre  has 
left  his  first  youth  behind  him,  but  his  soul  is  still 
young  and  he  only  turns  the  scale  at  two  hundred 
— he  galloped  in  pursuit,  quite  forgetting  that  the 
emblem  of  the  defending  force,  a  white  band  of 
a  blameless  clerical  existence,  was  tied  around  his 
hat.  The  enemy  naturally  took  him  for  a  cavalry 
charge,  a  clerical  counter-attack,  and  as  he  rode 
ventre  a  terre  a  withering  fire  was  poured  into  him 
from  the  hedge  lining  the  road.  He  lost  his  hat, 
he  probably  lost  his  stirrups,  and  certainly  his 
horse  bolted,  but  he  kept  his  head  and  won  through 
in  the  best  spirit  of  the  Church.  Whether  he 
found  his  man  or  not,  I  do  not  know,  but  he  was 
busy,  picking  rifle-wads  out  of  his  ears  and  hair, 
for  days  afterwards. 

The  doctors  had  a  great  surprise  in  store  for  us. 
We  were  to  be  inoculated  !  We  were  all  of  us 
prepared  for  this,  more  or  less.  (This  advisedly.) 
Our  medicine-man  had  been  gently  sewing  the 
seed  among  us  for  some  time,  assuring  us  it  was 
nothing,  and  that  the  health  of  the  army  depended 
on  it.  There  was,  however,  a  cold  calculating 
glint  in  his  eye  that  belied  the  honeyed  sweetness 
of  his  words.  I  must  say  the  doctors  had  it  down 
to  a  pretty  fine  point.  We  were  led  like  sheep 
to  the  slaughter  in  droves.  Special  batches  of 
ruthless  medical  men  stood  over  us,  and  with  arms 
bared  and  iodined,  the  cold  steel  was  shoved  into 
us.     It   was   remarkable   to   notice   how   nervous 


24         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

everyone  was;  men  who  afterwards  faced  every 
form  of  death  from  rifle  bullet  or  shell  quailed 
before  this  simple  inoculation.  Thus  was  the 
mystic  rite  performed,  our  own  doctor  standing 
by  and  gloating  over  our  sufferings,  and  acting  as 
a  type  of  unbribable  policeman  to  see  that  none 
escaped.  Of  course,  we  were  very  ill,  some  of  us 
for  quite  six  hours.  Some  of  us  had  violent  head- 
aches, found  afterwards,  however,  to  be  due  to  the 
spirits  we  had  poured  down  to  buck  our  spirits  up. 

Captain  Smith  was  really  quite  ill.  For  two 
days  he  lay  and  tossed  on  the  bed  of  sickness, 
groaning  in  agony;  then,  summoning  up  courage, 
he  staggered  to  the  mess.  His  gaunt  frame  and 
sunken  cheeks  were  witness  of  the  sufferings  he 
had  endured,  while  he  described  to  a  gaping  crowd 
of  listeners  his  harrowing  experiences. 

"  Remarkable  thing,  how  ill  it  makes  you, 
painting  a  little  yellow  stuff  on  your  arm  with  a 
brush,"  he  concluded  unctuously. 

"  But  didn't  they  shove  a  needle  into  your 
arm  ?"  questioned  Lieutenant  Bridge^. 

"  Needle  ?  No,  certainly  not.  What  would 
they  do  that  for  ?" 

''  To  give  you  the  juice,  of  course.  The  dope's 
in  a  syringe  like  a  six-inch  hypodermic,  and  when 
they  get  your  range  they  squirt  it  into  your  arm 
through  a  hollow  needle." 

"  But,  I  assure  you  they  did  me  differently : 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  25 

they  painted  some  brown  stufi  on  to  my  skin, 
and  then  I  was  very  sick,"  repeated  the  gallant 
warrior. 

"  Why,  that's  only  iodine  !"  yelped  Lieutenant 
Bridges,  as  the  mess-tent  rocked  to  the  shouts  of 
our  merriment. 

"  Then  I've  not  been  inoculated  at  all !  Waiter, 
whisky-and-soda  !     Damn  !  the  camp's  dry." 

*'  Yes,  that's  what  gives  inoculation  a  bad 
name,"  muttered  the  Doctor  as  he  left  the  tent  in 
disgust. 

Yes,  the  camp  was  dry — dry  as  the  Sahara.  The 
decree  had  gone  forth  that  no  hard  drinks  were  to 
be  bought,  sold,  or  imbibed,  within  the  camp 
limits.  Had  we  been  going  to  wage  war  in  Canada, 
this  might  have  been  an  excellent  restriction.  As 
it  was,  we  had  no  crime,  but  we  were  going  to 
Europe,  the  birthplace  of  Scotch  whisky,  EngUsh 
ale,  French  wines,  and  Belgian  beer,  and  everyone 
was  gradually  saving  up  a  glorious  thirst. 

We  were  gradually  shaking  down  to  military 
disciphne,  but  the  spirit  of  the  West,  with  all 
its  freedom  and  democracy,  was  still  in  our 
blood. 

Private  Ballsome,  for  instance,  strolling  into  the 
orderly  room  requesting  to  see  his  commanding 
officer,  gazed  reprovingly  at  the  Sergeant-Major 
when  sternly  commanded  to  come  to  attention,  and 
extended  a  patronizing  hand  to  Colonel  O'Shea. 


26         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''  Good-morning,  Colonel.  I  wonder  where  it 
was  we  met  before.  Let  me  see,  was  it  at  the 
Cowboys'  Club  or  at  the  Liberals'  picnic  last  year 
at  Skolitchan  ?" 

Fortunately,  through  the  Colonel's  composition 
there  ran  a  vein  of  humour,  but  the  Sergeant- 
Major  had  to  leave  the  tent  for  fear  of  exploding. 

Private  Ballsome  was  really  hard  to  please. 
Captain  Wales,  sitting  outside  his  tent  enjoying  a 
few  moments'  respite  from  bringing  up  his  flock 
in  the  way  it  should  go,  suddenly  became  aware  of 
his  portly  presence. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  with  this  ?"  queried  the 
mystified  Ballsome,  as  he  produced  a  web  equip- 
ment for  inspection. 

*'  Wear  it,  of  course,"  answered  his  O.C.  com- 
pany. 

''  But  I  can't,  sir;  it  hurts  me  !"  wailed  the 
plethoric  private. 

Then  there  was  Captain  Bourdass.  The  only 
trouble  about  him  was  that  they  couldn't  get  a 
horse  quite  big  enough  for  him.  Finally  the  enter- 
prising transport  officer  resurrected  a  Clydesdale 
elephant  capable  of  supporting  the  Tower  of  Babel. 
Beside  this  a  soap-box  was  placed  and  the  Captain 
invited  to  ascend.  But  the  soap-box  collapsed 
like  a  ladies'  band -box,  and,  as  there  was  no 
hydraulic  lift  obtainable,  the  venture  had  to  be 
given  up. 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  27 

Then  there  were  reviews,  which  occurred  with 
elaborate  frequency,  when  we  marched  past  with 
serried  ranl^s  and  endeavoured,  with  praiseworthy 
enthusiasm,  to  keep  in  Hne  and  look  to  the  right. 
We  had  sudden  calls  to  gigantic  meetings,  when 
we  were  exhorted  to  take  our  hands  out  of  our 
pockets !  This  became  a  sort  of  watchword,  and 
so  preyed  on  the  mind  of  one  Colonel  that  he 
walked  about  for  several  days  with  two  sticks,  in 
order  that  his  hands  could  be  kept  occupied,  and 
everyone  thought  that  he  had  a  sprained  ankle  at 
the  very  least. 

And  every  now  and  then  we  were  visited  by  the 
Duke,*  and  everyone  felt  the  better  for  his  coming. 
A  real  soldier,  he  appreciated  our  difficulties  and 
was  quick  to  notice  the  success  of  our  efforts. 
Always  quiet,  courteous,  and  thoroughly  human, 
his  influence  was  felt  from  one  end  of  our  camp  to 
the  other. 

There  were  pleasant  times  at  the  big  camp. 
Days  when  we  marched  through  the  forests  of 
maple  and  fir,  or  which  we  spent  on  the  rifle-range. 
Nights  when  we  sat  round  the  camp-fire  and  sang 
our  battalion  songs.  Would  I  could  repeat  them 
now  !  But  all  the  time  there  was  the  doubt  and 
uncertainty,  the  lingering  thought  that  some  might 
be  taken  and  others  left.  We  lay  on  our  beds  of 
fir  branches,  speculating  on  our  chances ;  the  super- 

*  H.K.H.  the  Duke  of  Connaught. 


28         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

numerary  officers  wandered  about  morosely  and 
furtively ;  and  everyone  longed  for  the  day  to  come 
when  for  the  time  being  we  would  see  the  last  of 
Canada. 

Then  the  news  came  we  were  to  go  as  a  division. 
The  four  brigades  were  to  be  shipped  to  Europe 
with  all  the  supernumerary  officers,  and  everyone 
sighed  with  relief.  The  transport  was  to  march 
before  us,  and  we  were  to  see  them  no  more.  Ours 
would  be  under  the  hungry  eye  of  the  senior 
horse-thief,  the  transport  officer.  He  had  with 
some  difficulty  obtained  the  services  of  a  transport 
sergeant,  a  robber  second  in  degree  only  to  him- 
self. This  worthy  had  been  asked,  when  he 
applied  for  the  post,  if  he  knew  anything  about 
horses  ? 

''No;  but  I  guess  I  can  manage  them.  I  once 
drove  a  steam  shovel." 

He  was  duly  installed  in  his  new  position,  when 
for  several  days  he  wandered  round  armed  with  an 
oil-can  and  a  spanner  !  Finally  the  one  was  kicked 
into  the  river  by  a  recalcitrant  mule,  and  the 
other  lost. 

We  embarked  on  board  the  Columbian,  and  the 
next  day  proceeded  out  of  dock  and  anchored 
upstream.  Here  we  gazed  on  the  famous  battle- 
ground, the  historic  plains  of  Abraham,  where  our 
present  allies  had  formerly  been  our  enemies. 

Now  we  had  time  to  survey  our  quarters.     Never 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  29 

had  troops  been  so  luxuriously  treated.  Warrant 
officers  and  practically  all  the  sergeants  had  state- 
rooms. 

''  I  want  my  morning  tea  at  seven,  and  please 
put  a  hot- water  bottle  in  my  bed,  James,"  re- 
marked one  grizzled  sergeant,  addressing  the  state- 
room steward. 

''  What  price  trooping  it  through  the  Red  Sea  !" 
remarked  Sergeant  Johnstone.  "  We  didn't  have 
fancy  bed-quilts  and  clean  sheets  !" 

''  Some  war  !"  was  the  unanimous  comment. 

We  floated  down  the  broad  bosom  of  the  mighty 
river  to  Gospel  Bay.  Here  were  collected  most  of 
the  convoy,  for  we  were  a  late  arrival.  Now  we 
commenced  to  be  of  good  cheer,  for  we  began  to 
feel  that  we  would  not  be  sent  back;  we  were 
really  to  get  away.  Thirty-one  transports  were 
assembled,  laden  with  Canada's  first  contribution 
to  the  great  European  struggle. 

In  three  long  hues  the  convoy  sailed  across  the 
Atlantic.  Cruisers  guarded  us  on  either  side,  and 
kept  a  watchful  eye  in  case  of  attack.  But  nobody 
troubled  themselves  much,  for  we  all  knew  that  the 
Navy  was  running  the  show,  and  that  it  would  be 
all  right. 

We  were  busy.  Physical  jerks  in  the  morning 
accelerated  the  liver  and  loosened  one's  joints. 
There  were  parades  and  lectures,  boat-drill  and 
inspections.     Every  man  had  a  bunk;  and  the  food 


30         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

was  excellent.  The  ban  of  the  tented  city  was 
lifted.  We  had  been  a  dry  camp,  but  fortunately 
we  were  not  a  dry  ship.  We  engaged  in  exciting 
contests  on  deck  at  shovel-board.  It  didn't 
matter  who  won,  as  both  sides  stood  drinks.  We 
watched  the  other  ships  in  their  long  lines.  We 
played  at  Kriegsfiel  in  the  evenings,  and  in  the 
afternoon,  the  hour  before  dinner-time,  we  had 
lectures.  Lieutenant  Pillows  on  machine-guns — 
every  one  a  world-beater.  The  portly  Major  Hill 
on  scouting — one  wondered  how  he  would  crawl 
through  the  grass  himself  in  the  way  he  so  graphic- 
ally described.  Sundry  medicine-men  from  the 
hospital,  who  shared  the  ship  with  us,  on  sanita- 
tion and  sickness.  Well,  it  was  a  pleasant  hour 
of  slumber,  and  if  the  lecturers  did  at  times  wake 
us  up,  you  could  hardly  blame  them  ! 

For  the  rest  the  Adjutant  and  company  officers 
spent  hours  a  day  trying  to  draft  a  nominal  roll. 
The  Adjutant  was  a  worried  and  harassed  man, 
and  the  roll  was  said  to  be  purely  nominal.  The 
Doctor,  in  a  den  smelling  evilly  of  carbolic  and 
castor-oil,  was  visited  by  a  monumental  sick 
parade,  anxious  to  escape  from  physical  jerks. 
Fresh  air  and  exercise  on  the  top  of  half  a  pint  of 
jalap  appeared  to  be  the  universal  prescription. 
Private  Mavis,  leaving  the  austere,  unsympathetic 
presence,  with  an  overload  of  castor-oil  on  board 
and  a  stern  reminder  not  to  come  back  again 
playing  the  old  soldier,  remarked  to  some  of  his 


FROM  WEST  TO  EAST  31 

pals:  "I  know  him;  he's  a  horse  doctor,  not 
a  hospital  doctor.  A  blooming  vet !  He  runs 
a  livery  barn  at  home." 

On  the  whole,  as  with  every  voyage,  we  ate  too 
much  and  slept  too  fully,  and  we  were  not  sorry 
when  we  sighted  the  Millchase  Light  and  knew 
we  would  shortly  cast  anchor  in  Westport. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  OLD  COUNTRY 

We  left  Westport  late  at  night,  and  after  an 
uneventful  train  journey,  arrived  in  the  early 
morning  at  Barlington.  From  here  the  way  led 
upwards  by  easy  steps  to  the  high  ground,  through 
villages  with  thatched  roofs  and  white  walls.  The 
larks  were  singing  and  the  sun  shining,  as  we 
finished  our  march  and  arrived  at  what  was  to  be 
our  home,  and  the  scene  of  our  trials  and  labours 
for  many  a  month. 

Moorland  West !  To  most  of  us  the  name  is 
synonymous  with  mud  and  rain,  with  night- 
marching  and  trench-digging;  but  when  first  we 
saw  it  on  that  October  morning  the  prospect  was 
very  pleasing.  The  low  rolling  down,  and  the 
patches  of  wood,  some  fir  and  some  hard,  was  not 
unlike  our  own  prairie.  Most  of  us  had  not 
expected  to  see  in  all  England  such  a  stretch  of 
open  country.  We  camped  on  a  slope.  At  the 
bottom,  in  a  small  fij-wood,  was  our  transport. 
They  had  arrived  at  the  same  time  as  we  did,  after 
crossing  the  Atlantic  in  another  boat.  The  trans- 
port ofiicer,  smelling  of  compressed  fodder  and 

32 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  33 

dubbin,  was  rushing  around  as  fretful  as  a  ferret. 
The  horses  had  stood  the  sea  voyage  wonderfully, 
very  much  better  than  some  of  the  men,  but  then 
they  did  not  have  leave  in  Westport  like  the 
humans ! 

Our  messing  was  in  the  hands  of  different  con- 
tractors. The  one,  at  whose  hands  we  suffered, 
probably  thought  we  were  a  species  of  herbivorous 
animal  that  fed  mainly  on  Brussels-sprouts.  We 
received  that  harmless  but  unexciting  vegetable, 
day  in  day  out,  until  we  began  to  feel  that  we  were 
about  to  turn  into  some  form  of  green  cabbage 
ourselves.  I  shall  never  forget  this  species  of 
fright  fulness,  and  can  only  hope  that  the  contractor 
spends  the  rest  of  eternity  eating  Brussels-sprouts. 
He  gave  us  altogether  a  wrong  impression  of 
England.  We  got  to  believe  that  the  Enghsh 
were  inseparable  from  sprouts,  that  they  were  a 
national  custom,  and  we  were  quite  surprised 
when,  later  on,  we  went  to  other  parts  of  the 
country  to  find  that  there  are  quite  a  variety 
of  edible  vegetables  which  the  inhabitants  are  in 
the  habit  of  eating. 

After  the  Brussels-sprouts,  the  next  article  of 
consumption  that  attracted  our  notice  was  un- 
doubtedly the  beer.  We  had  our  regimental 
canteens,  and  they  were  a  great  success.  In  the 
mud  and  misery  that  we  were  to  suffer  in  the  days 
following,  the  canteens  played  a  loyal  part,  and 
were  responsible   for  very   little   crime.     In   any 

3 


34         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

case  the  beer  was  good,  and  when,  for  the  first 
time,  we  buried  our  noses  in  the  dark  brown  foaming 
depths  of  a  yard-long  tankard,  we  felt  that  the 
British  nation  was  worth  fighting  for,  if  it  was 
founded  on  such  good  material. 

While  on  the  subject  of  crime  and  matters  of 
discipline  generally,  there  was  a  certain  miscon- 
ception in  the  minds  of  many  folk  in  the  Old 
Country  concerning  the  first  Canadian  division. 
A  well-known  paper  printed  what  was  considered 
an  excellent  joke,  and  one  which  amused  us  greatly 
and  probably  did  a  lot  of  good.  I  refer  to  the 
sentry  incident: 

Sentry.  "  Halt !     Who  goes  there  ?" 
Answer.  ''  First  Grenadiers." 
Sentry.  ''  Pass,  first  Grenadiers;  all's  well." 
Sentry.  ''  Halt !     Who  goes  there  V 
Answer.  ''  What  the  Hell  is  that  to  you  ?" 
Sentry.  "  Pass,  Canadians;  all's  well." 
Without  entering  into  controversy  on  matters 
which  I  am,  above  all  things,  anxious  to  avoid,  I 
humbly  submit  that  this  was  no  doubt  a  truthful 
description  of  an  incident  which  possibly  occurred 
once;  but  I  do  not  think  these  incidents  were 
frequent. 

There  was  another  matter.  On  leave  one  was 
perpetually  having  it  said,  what  a  fine  body  of 
men  the  Canadians  were,  but  what  a  pity  it  was 
that  they  had  such  poor  discipline.  I  think  that 
the  very  people  who  said  this  frequently  had  very 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  35 

little  understanding  of  the  persons  they  were 
criticizing.  In  the  ranks  of  the  first  division  were 
many  men  who  not  only  had  plenty  of  money  at 
their  command,  but  who  had  never  in  their  hves 
been  subjected  to  any  form  of  disciphne  or  re- 
straint. The  Canadian  on  leave,  whether  he  was 
a  full-private  or  a  General,  patronized  the  finest 
hotels  and  dined  at  the  best  restaurants.  To  our 
rank  and  file,  it  was  incomprehensible  that  because 
he  might  be  dressed  as  a  private  he  should  be  ex- 
cluded from  various  pleasures  which  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  enjoying  at  home.  In  consequence  of 
this  our  other  ranks  were  much  more  in  evidence 
than  those  of  other  units,  and  accordingly  came 
in  more  for  criticism.  This  choice  of  environment 
was  perhaps  not  to  be  wondered  at,  when  one 
considers  that  over  a  hundred  commissions  in 
Kitchener's  Army  were  given  to  men  in  one  regi- 
ment alone,  within  a  few  weeks  of  landing  in 
England.  Furthermore,  we  perhaps  suffered  from 
the  reaction  after  the  total  abstinence  of  our  camp 
in  Canada.  Again  this  is  a  matter  that  lies  beyond 
the  scope  of  my  endeavours,  and  is  therefore  to 
be  avoided. 

The  good  people  of  England  were  also  to  a  certain 
extent  responsible.  Their  hospitality,  which  is 
proverbial,  was  in  our  case  so  lavish  that  it,  in 
itself,  was  at  times  the  cause  of  some  of  our  lapses. 
On  looking  through  the  records  of  the  first  division, 
one  must  be  struck  by  one  fact,  and  that  is,  the 


36  MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

absence  of  all  serious  crime.  Drunks  there  were, 
and  glorious  ones  at  that,  but  drunks  there  will 
always  be  as  long  as  men  are  men  and  not  tame 
guinea-pigs.  "  Overstaying  pass  "  and  *'  absence  " 
also  occurred  with  frequency,  but  this  was  due  to 
the  fleshpots  of  London.  Insubordination  and 
other  more  serious  crimes  were  practically  un- 
known. 

We  were  faced  with  another  difficulty.  The 
plain  near  our  camp  was  dotted  with  small  woods. 
Coming  as  we  did  from  a  country,  where  the  forests 
are  so  vast  that  years  of  lumbering  have  scarcely 
nibbled  the  outside  margin,  it  was  difficult  to  make 
the  men  understand  how  sacred  a  thing  a  tree  is 
in  England.  The  whole  tactical  situation  of 
Salisbury  Plain  was  in  danger  of  being  destroyed, 
and  woods  which  had  served  the  purpose  of  con- 
cealing attacking  forces  in  many  an  historic  sham- 
fight  were  on  the  point  of  complete  disappearance. 
The  Pompadours  naturally  supposed  that  when 
the  firewood  ration  was  short,  the  best  thing  was 
to  go  out  and  cut  down  the  nearest  stick  of  timber, 
by  way  of  making  up  for  the  deficiency,  for  which 
they  were  in  no  way  to  blame. 

As  on  the  boat,  we  commenced  the  day  with 
physical  jerks.  This  brought  us  in  contact  with 
the  dawn.  Since  the  campaign  commenced,  we 
have  become  rather  specialists  in  dawns.  Now  I 
can  see  beauty  in  a  sunset,  and  have  often  watched 
the  sun  sinking  in  the  west  and  the  gradual  changing 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  37 

play  of  colours,  the  crimson  and  the  gold.  But 
I  never  could  see  anything  attractive  in  the  dawn. 
Yet  during  these  last  few  months  I  have  seen  the 
sun  rise  on  all  sorts  of  occasions,  and  in  all  sorts 
of  weathers,  and  always  with  a  sinking  at  my 
heart,  a  breakfastless  feehng  in  my  interior,  and 
the  knowledge  that  I  would  be  better  in  my  bed. 
The  man  who  once  described  the  early  morning 
as  the  best  part  of  the  day  was  either  in  his  cups 
and  on  his  way  to  bed,  or  ought  to  be  certified  as 
a  lunatic.     I  have  no  sympathy  with  him. 

The  most  unhappy  man  on  these  occasions  was, 
undoubtedly,  the  Doctor,  for  half  an  hour  before 
the  physical  jerks  parade  commenced,  it  was  his 
duty  to  leave  the  Quartermaster  snoring  placidly 
in  the  tent,  and  braving  the  cold,  the  mud  and 
misery,  minister  to  the  sick,  the  halt  and  the  lame. 
These  for  the  most  part  were  those  gentlemen  who 
failed  to  understand  that  there  was  any  benefit, 
moral  or  physical,  to  be  gained  by  an  early-morning 
indulgence  in  violent  exercise,  and  sought  exemp- 
tion therefrom  by  the  simulation  of  disease. 

The  Doctor  was  frequently  not  at  his  best  at 
these  early-morning  seances.  In  fact,  many  of 
his  extensive  clientele  no  doubt  found  him  a  trifle 
unapproachable  and  unsympathetic,  but  the  morn- 
ing parade  did  not  suffer  any  diminution  in  numbers 
on  account  of  the  laxity  of  his  vigilance. 

The  Quartermaster  and  the  Doctor,  as  behoved 
two   members   of   an   alien   race,   shared   a   tent 


38         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

together.  Across  the  road  behind  them  lay  a 
battahon  of  Highlanders,  and  they  would  lie  on 
their  beds  of  an  afternoon  and  listen  to  the  pipes, 
and  wonder  how  life  could  be  possible  in  anything 
but  a  regiment  of  Jocks. 

''  Come  in,  Doctor,  and  lace  the  flaps  tight;  let's 
strafe  these  English,"  the  Quartermaster  would 
shout  through  the  canvas.  ''  Listen  to  that 
piping.  I'll  bet  that  piper  comes  from  Argyll- 
shire; I  can  tell  that  from  his  grace  notes,"  as 
''  Scotland  the  Brave  "  floated  in  on  the  evening 
breeze. 

They  were  not  the  only  aliens.  There  was  a 
proud  and  haughty  Welshman  who  mispronounced 
his  nationality  by  terming  himself  a  Kelt. 

''  You  mean  a  Celt;  you're  not  pretending  you're 
a  salmon,"  remonstrated  the  Quartermaster. 

''  Yes,  it's  bad  form  to  spell  it  with  a  K,"  re- 
marked the  paymaster. 

This  furious  Welshman  was  a  real  Sir  Galahad. 
Thirsting  with  an  eagerness  to  be  out  Hun-killing, 
he  left  the  Pompadours,  like  so  many  others,  to 
seek  for  pastures  new  in  Kitchener's  Army,  and 
when  the  first  Canadians  had  been  for  over  a  year 
in  Flanders  he  was  still  wasting  his  sweetness  upon 
the  desert  air  of  Salisbury  !  We  who  were  fond  of 
the  Pompadours  amused  ourselves  in  our  spare 
time  in  writing  him .  sweet-scented  epistles  from 
Belgian  farmhouses  and  French  estaminets,  asking 
him  how  he  did,  and  if  he  intended  spending  the 


THE  OLD  COUNTEY  39 

rest  of  his  life  in  England.     ''  Daddy,  what  did 
you  do  in  the  big  war  ?" 

We  were  much  troubled  by  consequential  indi- 
viduals who  went  on  leave  to  London  and  returned 
wrapt  round  with  an  atmosphere  of  importance 
and  mystery.  They  would  draw  us  secretively  to 
one  side,  and  with  a  grandiose  air  of  solemnity, 
impart  to  us  certain  items  of  invaluable  worth, 
which  they  guaranteed  to  come  ''  straight  from 
the  War  Ofhce,  old  chap."  They  would  tell  us 
exactly  when  we  were  leaving  for  France,  and 
whether  we  were  to  go  as  a  division,  or  in  separate 
brigades  or  battalions.  It  mattered  not  to  them 
that  their  information  varied  from  day  to  day, 
and  that  in  every  instance  it  proved  to  be  in- 
accurate. With  praiseworthy  enthusiasm  they 
kept  us  going  with  false  rumours,  until  we  sickened 
of  them  and  finally  paid  them  no  attention. 

These  were  not  the  only  rumours  that  we  were 
heartened  up  with.  There  were  the  Eussians, 
those  visionary  warriors  who  came  from  Archangel 
and  entrained  at  Aberdeen,  where  Strathithan 
whisky  comes  from,  and  hit  the  trail  for  the  south. 
Of  course  this  was  no  myth,  for  snow  had  been  found 
in  the  railway  carriages,  and  where  could  snow 
come  from  but  from  Eussia  ?  This  hallucination 
was  just  about  as  vivid  and  ridiculous  as  the  Angels 
of  Mons,  and  yet  it  found  its  believers.  But  we 
were  getting  used  to  rumours;  in  fact,  during  our 
mihtary   Hfetime   we   had   been   brought   up    on 


40         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

rumour,  and  loving  the  lying  jade,  had  lingered 
in  her  presence.  Japs,  Hindoos,  and  Australians 
had,  in  our  heated  imagination,  chased  one  another 
across  the  C.P.R.  railroad  tracks  on  their  way  to 
Europe.  We  heard  that  somewhere  in  the  wilds 
of  Salisbury  Plains  the  great  war  was  being  run. 
That  in  a  deserted  farmhouse,  or  deep-dug  cellar, 
the  mighty  chiefs  who  held  the  destinies  of  the 
Allies  in  their  sway  had  their  permanent  habita- 
tion, and  that  there  somewhere,  almost  in  our 
midst,  the  glorious  schemes  were  perfected  which 
later  were  to  culminate  in  the  complete  victory 
of  our  arms.  Verily  we  must  have  appeared  to  be 
healthy  infants  to  require  so  much  sustenance  and 
entertainment. 

At  first  we  may  have  believed  these  fairy-tales; 
perhaps  they  heartened  us  up,  for  I  never  yet 
heard  a  rumour  that  was  not  pleasant.  But  later 
we  paid  no  attention  to  them,  until  finally  the  only 
persons  to  trouble  about  them  were  the  Padres 
and  the  mechanical  transport. 

We  had,  however,  other  things  to  think  of  than 
rumours.  The  weather,  which  had  at  first  wel- 
comed us  with  balmy  breezes  and  soft  sunshine, 
now  failed  us,  and  with  downpouring  rain  the  scene 
completely  changed.  The  main  street  of  our  camp 
became  a  running  watercourse;  the  grass  dis- 
appeared as  if  by  magic,  giving  place  to  a  chocolate- 
coloured  coagulum  which  we  learnt  to  know  as 
mud.     It    entered    into    our    lives;    we    splashed 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  41 

around  in  it  outside,  we  found  it  in  our  food;  it 
clung  to  the  outsides  of  our  glasses  when  we  went 
to  have  a  drink;  our  bodies  were  plastered  in  it 
and  our  minds  polluted  by  it;  it  became  part  of 
us,  eating  right  into  our  souls. 

Captain  John  Wallace,  stuck  in  the  mud  with 
the  wet  slime  almost  oozing  over  his  gumboot- 
tops,  demanded  of  the  landscape,  as  he  struggled 
vainly  to  release  himself,  ''  What's  the  good  of 
England,  anyhow  ?  Why  don't  we  hand  it  over 
to  the  Germans  ?" 

The  mud  was  not  allowed  to  interfere  with  our 
training;  from  early  morning  until  sunset  we  were 
kept  busy.  Things  we  thought  we  knew,  and  had 
already  practised  to  satiety  in  days  past,  had  all 
to  be  gone  over  again.  Gradually  the  meta- 
morphosis was  setting  in;  we  neglected  to  smoke 
cigarettes  on  church  parade.  We  learnt  that  in 
saluting  our  officers  we  were  not  losing  all  sense 
of  self-respect.  We  even  gave  up  chewing-gum 
when  standing  at  attention. 

I  well  remember  an  imperial  officer  when  one  of 
our  sentries  presented  arms  to  him,  at  the  same 
time  sedulously  chewing  a  wad  of  gum.  ''  Has 
that  man  not  finished  his  dinner  yet  ?"  he  de- 
manded of  the  sergeant  of  the  guard. 

''  Yes;  he's  just  having  a  chew  !" 

"  A  chew  !     Chewing  what  ?     Tobacco  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  gum." 

'^Gum!" 


42         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

As  the  winter  got  worse  the  sick  parade  grew  in 
proportion.  Yet  it  hardly  assumed  the  dimensions 
of  that  of  another  unit  camped  near  to  us.  There, 
the  indefatigable  Medical  Officer  on  one  occasion 
started  in  at  7  a.m.  There  were  four  hundred 
and  eighty  on  sick  parade,  and  by  five  in  the 
afternoon  he  was  still  going  strong.  At  that  hour 
he  began  sending  out  S.O.S.  calls  for  medical 
assistance,  and  appealed  to  our  own  unfeeling 
quack,  ''  You  know,  I  don't  think  these  men  are 
all  really  sick;  I'm  almost  certain  some  of  them 
are  pretending." 

''  Pretending  nothing  is  an  epidemic;  you've 
struck — a  plague." 

"  Really,  but  how  alarming  !     Of  what  nature  ?" 

''  Good-nature  on  your  part  and  damned  laziness 
on  theirs.  I  never  permit  the  parade  to  be  bigger 
than  thirty ;  if  there  are  any  more,  I  go  sick  myself 
— that  settles  them." 

Undoubtedly  our  medicine-man  had  no  heart. 

Our  own  little  Hippocrates  I  found  one  day 
engaged  in  strafing  the  medical  powers.  He  had 
reported  a  man  as  sufiering  from  rheumatism,  and 
had  duly  received  a  notice  on  A.  F.  B.  X.  Y.  Z. 
that  no  such  disease  was  known  to  the  medical 
authorities.  They  were,  however,  wonderfully 
polite,  and  remitted  him  a  list  of  diseases  to  choose 
from. 

"  What  the  Hades  am  I  to  do  ?"  he  murmured, 
reading  through  the  menu.     "  Anthrax,  bubonic 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  43 

plague,  smallpox,  typhoid,  heartburn — thank  God 
for  heartburn  !  Sergeant,  enter  up  Private  Griggs 
as  suffering  from  '  heartburn,'  and  write  a  humble 
note  to  the  mandarins  apologizing  for  a  wrong 
diagnosis.  Though,  how  the  Hellespont  heart- 
burn could  give  him  pains  in  the  knees  and  ankles, 
I'm  hanged  if  I  know  !" 

Then  there  was  leave — our  one  respite  from 
mud  and  continuous  parades  and  night-marches. 
What  we  would  have  done  without  it,  I  don't  know. 
Lieutenant  Glendover  took  to  his  Welsh  hills;  the 
Doctor  and  the  Quartermaster  departed  to  places 
with  unpronounceable  names  in  the  far  north; 
Major  Beverley  made  for  the  quiet  domesticity  of 
his  native  village  in  Devon;  but  for  most  of  us 
there  was  one  magnet,  and  one  only — London. 

London  appeared  very  good  to  most  of  us,  and 
its  goodness  was  not  only  in  the  outer  aspect. 
We  put  quite  a  lot  of  good  Canadian  money  in 
circulation  in  the  confines  of  the  West  End.  From 
the  Bank  of  Montreal  to  the  Savoy  Hotel  everyone 
that  we  had  ever  known  in  Canada  was  certain  to 
be  met  sometime  or  another. 

Jeff  McCree,  late  of  Dawson  City  and  presently 
platoon  commander,  was  hugging  the  Frivolity  bar 
as  he  ordered  another  round.  His  hat,  to  give 
more  room  for  his  head,  was  perched  far  back 
from  his  brow,  when  to  him  floated  in  an  imperial 
unit  in  the  shape  of  a  very  immature  infant  in  a 
silk-hat,  an  eyeglass  and  a  boiled  shirt. 


44         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

'*  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  at  Oxford  we  wear  our 
hats  so."  The  infant  was  in  his  cups,  but  even  so 
he  would  hardly,  had  he  known  Jeff's  reputation 
as  one  of  the  hardest  hitters  in  the  Klondyke, 
have  dared  to  alter  the  position  of  the  hat.  With 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur  he  slid  Jeff's  hat  forward 
on  his  head.  For  my  part,  I  stood  aghast,  and 
my  heart  was  sore  for  the  infant.  I  expected  Jeff 
to  make  a  meal  of  him  at  once,  but  instead  he 
responded  with  good  grace,  thanked  him  for  his 
tip,  and  inquired  if  the  infant  would  have  a  drink. 

"  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,  some  claret  and  lemonade, 
please." 

''  Claret  nothing  !"  retorted  Jeff.  "  You  blow  in 
here,  teach  me  how  to  wear  my  hat,  and  order  half 
a  pint  of  Condy.  I  wear  my  hat  as  your  Oxford 
crowd  do ;  now  you're  in  with  this  bunch,  so  it's  up 
to  you  to  stay  with  it.  A  rum-and-brandy  please, 
miss,  for  this  gentleman  here  with  the  glass  eye." 

The  infant  accepted  the  proposed  drink.  The 
situation  may  have  appealed  to  him,  yet  I  hardly 
think  it  likely.  I  imagine  he  began  to  have  a 
glimmering  that  in  his  short  and  sheltered  life  he 
had  never  encountered  quite  these  same  people 
before.  They  paid  scant  attention  to  him,  how- 
ever, and  spoke  of  strange  things  he  had  never 
heard  of,  in  a  language  which  at  times  he  was  not 
quite  familiar  with.  He  guessed  that,  having 
unwittingly  stumbled  into  a  camp  of  roughnecks, 
he  had  bitten  off  more  than  he  could  chew;  but 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  45 

being  game,  he  tried  to  stay  with  the  jackpot  he 
had  landed  himself  into. 

*'  Have  another  snort  ?"  said  Lieutenant  Madden 
of  the  Pompadours,  as  the  infant  put  down  his 
glass.  He  accepted,  despite  the  fact  that  the  first 
had  made  his  hair  curl,  and  almost  cough  the  roof 
of!  his  head. 

The  infant  passed  away  peacefully  a  few  minutes 
later,  and  we  laid  him  to  rest  on  a  sofa  against  the 
wall.  As  we  reverently  closed  his  eyes  and  placed 
his  silk-hat  and  nosegay  on  his  youthful  chest, 
Jeff  remarked:  '*  We  don't  mind  learning  from 
these  people  over  here,  and  I  reckon  there's  a  lot 
they  can  teach  us,  but  why  don't  they  send  us 
better  instructors  ?" 

''  I  guess  he'll  have  some  head  when  he  returns  to 
mother  in  the  morning,"  said  Lieutenant  Madden. 

"  Well,  he  died  game,  boys,  let  me  tell; 
He  had  his  boots  on  when  he  fell ; 
So  what  the  H ,  Bill  ?     What  the  H ?" 


After  all  a  tent  is  not  such  a  bad  thing  to  live 
in  in  winter,  but  we  were  not  sorry  when  the  time 
came  for  us  to  move  into  huts.  One  day  we  shook 
the  mud  of  Moorland  West  off  our  feet  and  moved 
across  the  plain  to  Sparrow  Crest.  Here  we  were 
more  comfortable,  but  the  mud  was  not  less  omni- 
present or  sticky.  We  felt  it  was  always  a  step 
nearer  France,  and  were  correspondingly  elated. 
Here  a  new  disappointment  awaited  us.     Cerebro- 


46         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEES  FIELDS 

spinal  meningitis  made  its  appearance  in  the  camp. 
First  one  and  then  another  went  down  with  it,  but 
the  epidemic  never  assumed  dangerous  proportions ; 
two  or  three  in  a  battaUon  was  the  highest  figure, 
but  we  knew  we  were  on  the  edge  of  a  volcano, 
and  that  this  might  delay  our  departure. 

If  they  ever  present  the  Pompadours  with  colours, 
there  are  three  things  which  ought  to  be  recorded 
thereon  among  the  battle  honours:  mud,  cerebro- 
spinal, and  a  wreath  of  Brussels-sprouts.  So  far 
these  have  been  the  greatest  of  our  trials  in  the 
present  campaign ! 

At  Sparrow  Crest  we  Hved  in  huts.  The  officers 
divided  into  right  and  left  half  battafions.  The 
right  half,  under  Major  Meldrum,  made  a  great 
parade  of  righteousness,  especially  in  the  mornings. 
They  sprang  from  their  couches  with  extraordinary 
verve  and  abandon,  and  generally  had  their  break- 
fasts finished  while  the  left  half  was  still  rubbing 
the  sleep  out  of  their  eyes.  Major  Meldrum  was 
the  restless,  driving  spirit  that  propelled  them 
from  their  blankets — he  and  the  Padre,  who  was 
always  a  perfect  nuisance  in  the  morning.  They 
must  both  have  possessed  uneasy  consciences. 

"  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown." 
Well,  the  Major  wore  his  on  his  shoulders,  and 
the  Padre,  no  doubt,  was  hoping  to  wear  one 
later  on  in  the  sweet  by-and-by.  It  was  martial 
law  with  a  vengeance;  complaint  and  grumbling 
were  alike  useless.     Once   the   Major's   hawk-like 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  47 

face  appeared  round  the  corner  of  the  cubicle,  it 
was  as  well  to  yield  to  the  inevitable. 

Not    so    in    the    left    half.     Tiny    Pillows,    our 
machine-gunner,    who    turned    the    scale    at    two 
hundred  and  forty,  was  always  the  first  up.     He 
would  sit  for  half  an  hour  on  the  side  of  his  bed, 
wondering  whether  he  should  get  back  between 
the  blankets  and  mumbling  about ''  world-beaters." 
Whether  he  was  thinking  of  his  guns  or  some  new 
white  hopes,  we  never  knew.     Lieutenant  Brom- 
field  and  the  T.O.*  were  always  early  astir,  but 
they  were  both  so  thin  that  their  beds  hurt  their 
bones.     The  rest  of  us  lay  peacefully  snoring,  until 
an  outburst  of  profanity  betrayed  the  fact  that 
the  Medical  Officer  was  out  and  making  a  hasty 
toilet   prior    to    browbeating   his   malingerers   at 
morning   sick   parade.     He   generally   pulled   the 
Adjutant  out  of  bed  before  leaving,  when  a  free 
fight  would  ensue  across  the  bed  of  the  Quarter- 
master,   who,    hke   the   dormouse   in    ''  Alice    in 
Wonderland,"    slept    through    it    all.     Then    the 
Medical  Officer  would  retire  to  meet  his  babes, 
attired  in  a  pair  of  gumboots  and  a  cavalry  great- 
coat.    What  he  wore  underneath  we  never  quite 
fathomed.     I    imagine    it    was    not    much,    and 
probably  insufficient  to  bear  the  scrutiny  of  a  kit 
inspection.     The   Quartermaster   was  always  the 
last  man  up.     He  arrived  so  late  that  on  one  occa- 
sion the  Commanding  Officer  was  feign  to  ask  him 

*  Transport  Officer. 


48         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

if  he  wasn't  developing  bedsores  by  being  so  long 
in  bed  ? 

At  Sparrow  Crest  the  training  proceeded  un- 
interruptedly, except  for  cerebro-spinal  fever.  And 
as  hut  after  hut  was  quarantined  our  spirits  sank, 
and  we  saw  before  us  months  of  isolation.  But 
fortunately  the  evil  lifted,  and  finally  there  were 
no  new  cases,  and  we  breathed  again. 

We  tilted  with  bayonets  at  imaginary  Bosches 
in  the  shape  of  sacks  of  straw.  We  had  our  various 
musketry  courses,  and  we  marched  with  full  equip- 
ment ;  we  dug  trenches  at  night,  which  were  sighted 
by  the  simple  process  of  sending  an  officer  forward 
for  two  hundred  yards  with  a  flashlight.  The  gentle 
irony  of  the  situation  we  did  not  then  appreciate, 
but  I  have  often  wondered  since  how  long  that 
officer  would  last  during  the  real  thing. 

The  left  battalion  had  gone  out  in  the  afternoon 
to  dig  themselves  in  in  the  dark,  and  at  midnight 
the  right  half  were  to  attack. 

There  was  still  an  hour  of  light  remaining,  so  the 
officers  of  the  left  half,  under  the  shelter  of  a  spinny, 
employed  it  to  cook  themselves  a  meal  of  flapjacks 
and  ham  and  eggs.  Captain  Wales  conducted 
operations.  Lieutenant  Allonby,  his  palate  tickled 
by  the  delicacy  of  the  repast,  became  inquisitive. 

''  Where  did  you  learn  to  cook,  old  thing  ?" 

"  On  the  C.P.R.,  on  a  dining-car;  there  were 
three  of  us,  all  ex-imperial  officers.  There  was 
Simons,  who  used  to  be  in  the  12th  Hussars;  he's 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  49 

now  a  Brigade   Major  in  K.'s.     And  Bruce,  who 
went  back  to  the  Scottish  Rangers." 

**What;  did  you  know  Simons?  Why,  he  and 
I  were  time-keeping  in  a  construction  camp  on 
the  Grand  Trunk  in  1910,"  said  Madden.  "  He'd 
a  great  way  with  the  Austrians;  wonderfully 
persuasive  with  price  of  lead-piping." 

"  I  knew  Bruce,  too ;  he  used  to  be  up  at  Kelowna. 
Supposed  to  have  a  ranch,  but  he'd  got  the  whole 
thing  mortgaged  higher  than  a  kite,"  remarked 
Bridges. 

"  Yes,  and  when  his  uncle  came  out  to  look  the 
place  over  we  stocked  it  for  him.  I  lent  him  a 
cow,  and  Lindsay  sent  over  some  hens.  The  old 
man  was  quite  pleased,  and  went  away  thinking 
that  Brucy  had  become  a  reformed  character," 
said  Hume,  with  his  mouth  full  of  flapjacks. 

"  I  don't  know  what  we're  going  to  do  when  this 
cruel  war  is  over.  I'm  going  to  go  bust  so  high 
the  pieces  will  never  come  down.  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  dig  in  a  drain,  or  some  such  back-breaking 
healthy  form  of  sport,"  said  John  Wallace. 

"  What  about  West  Point  lots  ?" 

''  All  right  in  time,  my  boy;  but  just  for  the 
present  the  public  are  a  bit  shy,"  answered  the 
honest  one. 

''  I'm  afraid  there  won't  be  another  coal-strike 
to  keep  you  going,  Madden." 

"  Strike  be  hanged  !  I'm  going  back  as  assistant 
purser  on  the  Vancouver  Hong-Kong  run." 

4 


50         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  Oh,  that's  a  rotten  run;  it's  as  bad  as  the 
North  Atlantic.  I'm  for  Sydney,  New  South 
Wales.  Mixed  bathing  at  Manley  Beach  is  good 
enough  for  me,"  said  Hume. 

"  Where's  Monty  ?  Monty,  you  old  stifi  ! 
Hume  says  Manley  Beach  is  all  right.  What  do 
you  know  about  it  ?" 

''  Oh,  pretty  fair,"  assented  Lieutenant  Mont- 
gomery. ''  He  doesn't  know  any  better.  I  re- 
member once  meeting  a  lady  in  George  Street, 
Sydney." 

''  Fall  in,  left  half  battahon  !"  shouted  Major 
Hill,  adding  quietly:  ''When  Monty  starts  his 
Australian  reminiscences  it's  time  for  honest  men 
to  get  to  business." 

We  dug  ourselves  in,  through  the  chalk,  and 
manned  our  trenches  as  midnight  approached. 

The  right  half,  commanded  by  Major  Meldrum, 
a  bloodthirsty  Irishman  with  a  fine  eye  for  country, 
had  left  camp  some  hours  behind  us,  and  after 
a  night-march  of  some  ten  miles  proceeded  gradually 
to  develop  an  attack  against  us. 
j*^.  Captain  Younger  fell  in  with  our  first-line  scouts, 
who  were  some  three  hundred  yards  in  advance  of 
the  left  half,  and  mistook  their  withering  fire  for 
that  of  the  main  body.  With  undying  heroism  he 
led  a  bayonet  charge  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
broken  ground,  and  fell  nearly  dying  of  exhaustion 
when  he  rushed  the  trench.  He  was  the  first  m-an 
home,  and  although  his  time  was  over  fifty-two 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  51 

seconds,  we  considered  it  a  very  fair  achievement, 
considering  the  badness  of  the  country  and  the 
weight  of  his  pack. 

*'  Are  you  entering  for  the  quarter-mile  at  the 
battahon  sports  ?"  the  Medical  Officer  inquired 
gently  as  he  revived  him  with  medical  comforts 
in  the  support  trench.  As  most  of  Younger's 
company  failed  to  arrive  at  all,  we  crossed  them 
off  as  casualties,  due  to  the  accuracy  of  our  rifle 
fire.  Captain  Cope  executed  an  inspiring  envelop- 
ing movement,  and  succeeded  in  enveloping  him- 
self to  such  an  extent  that,  after  waiting  for  him 
and  his  merry  men  for  over  an  hour,  we  decided  to 
put  them  down  as  ''  officially  reported  missing, 
believed  to  be  lost."  We  found  them  two  miles 
along  the  road  on  the  way  home,  trying  to  find 
their  way  by  the  stars,  an  unprofitable  occupation, 
as  the  whole  sky  was  obscured  by  clouds.  Cope's 
crowd,  however,  took  it  out  of  us  on  the  road 
home.  They  had  done  no  digging,  neither  had 
they  charged  across  the  open;  so  while  we  were 
somewhat  tired,  they  were  still  fresh.  Further, 
they  marched  at  the  head  of  the  battalion. 

It  was  a  very  disgusted  crowd  of  officers  who 
assembled  in  the  mess  at  4  a.m.  for  nightcaps. 
Even  the  left  half,  who  felt  that  the  merit  they 
had  achieved  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening 
scarcely  warranted  being  marched  off  their  legs 
by  Captain  Cope's  warriors  later  on,  were  in  a  state 
of  dignified  dudgeon. 


52         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEES  FIELDS 

"  What  did  you  think  you  were  doing,  Cope — 
running  a  Marathon  ?''  came  the  obvious  question 
from  Captain  Younger. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  in  a  hurry,  in  case  you 
got  lost  again,"  said  Major  Hill. 

"  No;  I  merely  wanted  to  see  if  you  dead-beats 
knew  how  to  march.  You'll  never  be  able  to 
afford  to  ride,  so  the  sooner  you  learn  the  better." 

And  so  to  bed. 

All  the  time  was  not  taken  up  by  training;  we 
had  our  lighter  moments  also.  In  the  mess  in  the 
evening  Lieutenants  Madden,  Montgomery,  and 
Lindsay  used  to  put  on  stunts  for  our  entertain- 
ment. We  had  Zeppelin  raids,  when  the  airship, 
consisting  of  two  chairs  and  a  section  of  table, 
floated  round  the  anteroom.  The  intrepid  aviators, 
hovering  on  their  giddy  perch,  dropped  bombs, 
consisting  of  empty  beer-bottles,  on  the  heads  of 
notabilities  thousands  of  feet  beneath  them.  Or 
it  was  a  shipwreck,  when  the  sun-grilled  mariners 
navigated  the  vast  unending  waters  of  the  mess- 
room  floor  on  an  upturned  table,  searching  for  a 
sail  through  a  telescopic  whisky-bottle,  and 
clamoured  vainly  for  drinks.  There  the  ancient 
mariner  shot  the  albatross  which  flapped  down 
from  the  top  of  the  piano.  We  tied  it  to  his  neck, 
and  ate  it  finally  at  mess  on  the  morrow  under  the 
heading  of  pheasant ! 

There  were  sordid  dramas  from  real  life,  when 
little  Alice,  dressed  in  a  table-cloth  and  her  mother 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  53 

in  curl-papers,  waited  for  the  drunken  father 
outside  the  gin-palace  door.  Then  there  was  the 
poisoning  act,  when  the  foully  wronged  heroine, 
Lieutenant  Lindsay,  caught  the  villain.  Lieutenant 
Montgomery,  in  the  act  of  inserting  No.  9  pills  in 
her  whisky -and-soda ;  and  rushing  to  the  windows, 
discovered  the  lights  of  her  lover's  (Lieutenant 
Madden's)  motor-car  coming  up  the  drive.  The 
car  was  a  soap-box  and  the  lights  one  candle.  It 
acted  quite  well,  as  the  lamps  in  the  anteroom 
were  all  turned  out  to  make  this  seem  more  realistic. 

Then  there  were  other  nights  when  we  went 
over  to  the  Jocks  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
danced  reels  to  the  music  of  the  pipes;  or  the 
Saskatoons  gave  a  dance,  and  we  did  the  light 
fantastic  until  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  and 
rolled  on  to  parade  mthout  troubling  our  beds 
at  all. 

Then  we  were  reviewed.  We  had  been  reviewed 
on  so  many  occasions  that  we  were  really  becoming 
dizzy  with  the  process.  The  Duke  of  Connaught 
reviewed  us  in  the  early  days  of  our  career ;  Earl 
Roberts  did  the  same  by  us  at  Moorland  West; 
the  King  had  reviewed  us  once  before,  and  was  to 
do  so  again. 

The  Division  looked  well,  and  undoubtedly  did 
well,  as  we  marched  past  in  front  of  His  Majesty. 
We  were  equipped  down  to  the  last  detail,  and 
showed  that  despite  the  wind  and  weather  we  had 
profited  by  the  weary  months  of  waiting  on  the 


54         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEES  FIELDS 

dreary  plain.  Horse,  artillery,  and  foot  marched 
in  front  of  His  Majesty,  rank  on  rank  in  khaki. 
There  are  worse  things  than  the  war,  and  many 
of  us  thought  so  that  day  as  we  passed  by  the 
saluting  base,  the  Eoyal  Standard  flying  over- 
head and  the  trim  khaki  figure  taking  the  salute 
from  the  moving  thousands  of  the  1st  Canadian 
Division. 

Our  time  in  England  was  rapidly  coming  to  a 
close.  Everything  pointed  to  an  early  departure. 
Lecturers  came  and  spouted  at  us,  telling  us  of 
the  trenches.  Worthy  men,  they  no  doubt  knew 
their  business,  but  they  left  us  somewhat  mystified, 
and  with  an  impression  of  shot  and  shell,  loud 
explosions,  and  sudden  death.  However,  we  hoped 
soon  to  see  for  ourselves;  and  if  our  intelligence 
failed  to  grasp  the  details,  our  imagination  stood 
us  in  good  stead  and  filled  in  the  defects. 

Meantime  we  were  preparing.  Our  kits  needed 
a  lot  of  consideration.  Thirty-five  pounds  per 
officer,  including  bedding,  is  hardly  sufficient  to 
go  honeymooning  on,  and  our  effects  needed  a 
lot  of  whittling  down.  Some  of  the  officers  were 
glorious  sights,  hung  round  with  automatic  pistols, 
binoculars,  water-bottles,  periscopes,  wire-cutters, 
electric  torches,  haversacks,  amputating  knives, 
can  -  openers,  corkscrews,  oyster  knives,  range- 
finders,  cameras,  compasses,  flasks,  marlingspikes, 
and  other  fancy  trinkets  !  The  old  campaigners 
had  little  or  no  kit.    What  there  was,  was  done  up 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  55 


^ 


in  a  couple  of  sandbags,  and  consisted  mainly  of 
two  blankets  and  a  waterproof  sheet. 

Every  item  was  gradually  weighed  in  the  balance, 
and  as  the  time  grew  shorter  the  amount  of  baggage 
found  wanting  gradually  increased.  One  trinket 
after  another  was  discarded,  and  we  gradually 
began  to  look  less  like  Christmas-trees.  We  cast 
envious  eyes  on  the  medicine-man,  for  he  had  a 
whole  Maltese  cart  to  himself,  and  evidently  meant 
to  keep  it  so.  He  was  for  ever  quoting  the  Geneva 
Convention  business  to  sundry  mess  presidents, 
and  others  who  desired  to  smuggle  in  contraband 
under  the  shelter  of  the  Red  Cross. 

To  one  and  all  he  turned  a  deaf  ear,  even  to  the 
Bishop,  whose  ideas  of  campaigning  seemed  to  run 
to  feather-beds,  bedsocks,  and  family  Bibles.  The 
worthy  man  had  collected  together  enough  hospital 
comforts  to  start  a  ladies'  seminary;  and  despite 
the  unapproachable  and  almost  antagonistic  atti- 
tude of  the  Medical  Officer,  succeeded  in  carrying 
most  of  his  effects  with  him  to  France.  Later  on 
our  wounded  had  frequent  cause  to  bless  our  man 
of  God,  whose  activities  took  such  a  practical 
course  in  alleviating  their  sufierings  and  ministering 
to  their  wants. 

Then  the  last  day  came.  We  wandered  about 
as  disconsolate  as  cats  at  a  family  flitting.  The 
mess  had  ceased  to  exist,  our  huts  were  gutted ;  but 
we  were  glad — glad  to  be  going.  The  uncertainty 
of  the  future  was  everything;  the  certainty  of  the 


56         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

past  few  months  had  been  too  terrible.  The  mud 
of  Flanders  could  not  be  worse  than  the  mud  of 
Salisbury;  the  sudden  death  by  bullets  was  not 
to  be  compared  with  the  silent,  insidious  onslaught 
of  cerebro-spinal ;  and  there  would  be  no  Brussels- 
sprouts.  I  presume  the  authorities  had  some 
object  in  view  when  they  moved  us  in  the  dark- 
ness: concealing  the  movements  of  troops,  most 
likely. 

We  had  something  to  eat — not  that  I  remember 
what  it  was — in  the  undecorated  mess-room,  and 
quietly  assumed  our  equipment.  We  gazed  for 
the  last  time  on  the  bare  interior  of  the  hut  that 
had  been  our  dormitory  for  so  many  months, 
seeing  if  anything  had  been  left  behind,  then 
ploughed  our  way  silently  and  thoughtfully  through 
the  mud  to  the  parade  ground. 

We  were  of!.  Behind  us  lay  the  silent  huts  and 
all  the  dull  routine  of  our  novitiate.  In  front  lay 
the  unknown,  with  all  its  hopes  and  fears,  its 
dangers,  pleasures,  and  perhaps  its  glory.  At  the 
corner  we  ran  into  the  transport  of  the  Assiniboias ; 
they  were  early  in  difficulties  with  a  trace  broken 
and  a  limber  sunk  axle-deep  in  the  mire.  ''  Bill 
Minor,"  our  transport  officer,  knew  one  better 
than  this;  in  the  afternoon  he  had  nosed  out  a 
track  over  which  our  limbers  travelled  without 
mishap.  We  entrained  quickly,  and  the  train 
started  almost  immediately.  At  Bridgeport  we 
surprised  the  embarkation  officer  with  the  rapidity 


THE  OLD  COUNTRY  57 

with  which  we  got  on  board.  He  told  us  that  for 
days  he  had  been  dreading  our  arrival ;  he  had  been 
informed  it  would  take  ages  to  embark  the  Cana- 
dians, yet  our  Brigade  defeated  his  best  record 
by  quite  an  appreciable  amount.  He  really  thought 
we  had  been  maligned. 

Horses,  waggons,  stores,  everything  slid  on 
board  with  precision  and  exactitude,  as  though 
we  had  rehearsed  the  movement  for  years. 

Of  the  voyage  across  there  is  little  to  narrate. 
The  Captain  and  officers  of  the  S.S.  Cmnbridgeshire 
did  all  they  could  for  us,  and  there  was  a  trump- 
card  in  the  shape  of  a  head  steward  who  ministered 
to  our  wants  unmindful  of  the  Licensing  Bill. 
The  weather  was  all  that  we  could  wish  for,  and 
the  hostile  submarines,  if  there  were  any,  reposed 
sulkily  on  the  bottom.  We  had  none  of  the  luxury 
that  characterized  our  passage  across  the  Atlantic; 
yet  this,  in  itself,  was  merely  a  sign  that  we  were 
gradually  getting  down  to  things.  Both  officers 
and  men  slept  on  the  bare  boards,  yet  we  slept 
sound  and  dreamed  not  at  all. 

Private  Gallagher  provided  the  only  piece  of 
excitement.  Selecting  a  convenient  hatchway,  he 
contrived  to  fall  through  it  into  the  black  depths 
of  the  hold.  He  ought  to  have  broken  his  neck, 
but,  instead,  sustained  a  compound  fracture  of  his 
thigh-bone.  The  Medical  Officer  nearly  hanged 
himself  with  a  rope  in  going  to  his  assistance,  and 
the  hero  of  the  adventure  was  certainly  the  first 


58         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEKS  FIELDS 

officer.  I  had  often  heard  of  the  adaptabihty  and 
ingenuity  of  the  mercantile  marine,  and  certainly 
it  was  more  than  demonstrated  on  this  occasion. 
The  care  with  which  this  indefatigable  sailor 
rigged  up  a  stretcher  on  a  crane  and  hoisted  the 
injured  private  from  the  bowels  of  the  ship  was 
worth  going  a  long  way  to  watch. 


CHAPTER  IV 
LA  BELLE  FRANCE 

We  arrived  at  Pierreville  in  the  afternoon,  but  it 
was  dark  before  we  were  permitted  to  land.  The 
authorities  improved  the  shining  hour  by  issuing 
to  us  Teddy-bear  coats,  mittens,  and  sundry 
woollies.  This  resulted  in  our  resembling  closely 
a  Polar  Expedition,  without  the  icicles,  but  it  was 
cold  enough,  in  any  case,  without  them. 

Fatigue  parties  were  told  off,  under  the  watchful 
eye  of  Major  Hill,  to  help  with  the  unloading, 
while  the  rest  of  us  sat  around  in  our  hairy  coats 
and  admired  one  another.  We  marched  from  the 
wharf  in  the  darkness.  Private  Skinner  falling  into 
the  dock  in  his  anxiety  not  to  be  left  behind.  We 
pulled  him  out  on  the  end  of  a  rope,  and  managed, 
amid  the  multifarious  garments  provided  by  a 
generous  and  all-seeing  Government,  to  find  him 
a  change. 

Of  Pierreville  we  saw  little.  A  French  sentry 
or  two,  a  dark  street,  a  bridge  across  a  canal,  the 
back  view  of  a  brewery,  and  we  were  at  the  railway 
station.  A  Canadian  infantry  battalion  must  bulk 
more  largely  on  the  landscape  than  its  British  or 

59 


60         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

French  equivalent.  With  the  best  will  in  the  world, 
it  took  us  all  we  knew  to  get  crammed  into  the 
very  limited  accommodation  provided  for  us. 
**  Hommes  40  "  may  have  been  all  very  well  in  the 
Stone  Age,  when  the  freight-cars  in  question  were 
undoubtedly  constructed,  judging  by  their  dilapi- 
dated prehistoric  appearance,  but  they  were  cer- 
tainly not  designed  for  lusty,  overfed  Canadian 
foot-soldiers.  They  were  geniune  antiques,  how- 
ever, and  within  their  narrow  confines  the  Pompa- 
dours, in  every  imaginable  position  of  cramped 
restraint,  journeyed  to  the  war. 

The  officers  were  provided  with  carriages  as 
cramped  as  were  the  men's.  The  smart  and  eager 
ones  having  rammed  their  platoons  safely  into  the 
rabbit-hutches  at  the  back,  promptly  pinched  these, 
and  spreading  themselves  out,  glared  at  all  would-be 
intruders. 

''  Where  the  Hellifer  are  you  going  to  swing  your 
hammock,  Doc.  ?"  said  the  Quartermaster,  as  he 
and  the  Medical  Officer  discovered  the  state  of 
affairs. 

''  Anywhere  but  with  these  English  robbers; 
they've  conquered  most  of  the  world,  and  yet 
they're  not  satisfied,  but  must  needs  go  out  of 
their  way  to  steal  all  the  best  seats,"  enjoined  the 
infuriated  vendor  of  pills. 

''  Hullo,  Maxims,  are  you  looking  for  a  home 
too  ?"  The  Mackintosh  had  just  found  Tiny 
Pillows  wandering  around  disconsolate,  with  two 


LA  BELLE  FRANCE  61 

yards  of  bread  under  one  arm,  and  two  useful 
bottles  under  the  other. 

"  You  ought  to  be  popular  wherever  you  go, 
with  all  that  dope;  did  those  carriage  thieves  in 
front  refuse  you  admittance  ?"  asked  Lieutenant 
Hume. 

''Not  on  your  life;  they  wanted  to  adopt  me, 
but  I'm  not  travelling  with  that  crowd — they're 
too  thirsty." 

"  You  come  with  us  and  join  the  total  abstinence 
brigade,  an  offshoot  from  our  old  moral  reform 
club.  Mac  here  is  the  president,"  advised  the 
M.O.     ''  Where's  Whistling  Willie  ?" 

''  Throwing  a  cat  fit  over  some  of  his  horses; 
he  can't  get  them  shoved  into  the  space  he's  got. 
They're  not  like  men;  they've  got  minds  of  their 
own,"  said  The  Mackintosh. 

"  I  saw  one  of  Cousins'  mules,  trying  to  kick  him 
in  the  wind  just  now.  Luckily,  he's  built  at  an 
angle,  and  the  ungrateful  animal  scored  a  miss," 
remarked  Major  Kawlins. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  commanding  a  ruddy  detail. 
You  either  get  forgotten  altogether  by  the  silly 
old  Adjutant,  or  come  up  last  and  find  someone 
has  swiped  all  the  accommodation,"  grumbled  the 
Doctor. 

''  Yes;  the  next  war  I  come  to,  I'm  going  to  be 
a  parson  or  paymaster.  I'll  bet  they've  pinched 
the  two  seats  next  the  Colonel,"  said  the  Quarter- 
master, 


62         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  Major,  you've  got  plenty  of  medals — you  look 
like  a  soldier;  go  and  frighten  that  rabbit-faced 
citizen  over  there  with  the  tin  horn,  and  arrange 
a  coupe  for  me  and  '  Pills,'  "  suggested  Pillows. 

*'  Yes;  and  you'll  find  us  in  the  pub  over  there 
— the  *  Bleu  Vache  ' ;  when  you've  put  the  deal 
through,  we'll  probably  be  drinking  milk,"  remarked 
the  Doctor. 

Major  Rawlins  didn't  belie  his  reputation  as  a 
rustler,  with  the  result  that  very  shortly  the  dis- 
comfited extras  found  accommodation  in  an  empty 
freight-car.  This  with  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  straw 
formed  such  a  comfortable  domicile,  that  the  eager 
ones  in  the  carriages  next  door  began  to  regret 
their  choice  of  quarters.  They  made  a  descent 
on  the  freight-car,  but  were  ingloriously  repulsed 
by  its  occupants,  who  now  found  that  they  had 
not  only  space  for  themselves,  but  also  ample 
room  to  spread  out  their  blankets. 

The  citizen  with  the  tin  horn  now  got  busy, 
and  with  much  creaking,  groaning,  and  jolting, 
the  train  got  into  motion.  The  Medical  Officer 
and  Tiny  Pillows  narrowly  escaped  being  left 
behind  in  the  ''  Blue  Cow,"  but  were  saved  at  the 
last  moment  by  Lieutenant  Ball,  who  in  his  woolly 
coat  looked  more  like  a  puf!-ball  than  ever. 

We  journeyed  slowly  through  the  smiling  land 
of  France,  stopping  at  frequent  intervals,  when 
we  obtained  hot  water  with  which  to  wet  our  tea. 
We  had  ample  opportunity  at  the  various  towns 


LA  BELLE  FKANCE  63 

we  stopped  at  to  buy  food  to  supplement  our 
rations.  The  country  people  came  out  and  cheered 
us  on  our  way.  On  the  platforms  of  the  stations 
we  fraternized  with  the  French  soldiers  and  the 
local  inhabitants. 

Lieutenant  Cousins  enhanced  his  reputation  by 
pulling  off  a  regular  scoop.  Had  he  been  still  on 
the  staff  of  the  Daily  Hustler,  he  would  have 
attained  instant  celebrity.  One  of  his  pets  fell 
off  the  train.  Please  don't  ask  me  how  it  hap- 
pened; I  wasn't  present  when  the  episode  com- 
menced. How  does  a  horse  usually  fall  out  of  a 
waggon  ?  He  may  have  been  of  the  serpentine 
class  and  wriggled  through  the  window;  he  may 
have  been  heavy  draft  and  fallen  through  the 
floor;  he  may  even  have  politely  walked  through 
the  open  door. 

In  any  case,  as  we  pulled  out  of  a  wayside  station, 
there  was  our  little  cousin  passing  from  one 
paroxysm  of  acute  mania  into  another  in  the  middle 
of  the  track,  and  pulling  at  the  head-rope  of  the 
enterprising  charger,  which  three  of  his  assistants, 
with  bent  backs  and  much  vituperation,  were 
shoving  from  behind.  As  we  rounded  the  curve, 
the  last  thing  we  saw  was  the  transport  officer 
semaphoring  wildly,  the  horse  at  a  standstill,  and 
three  lusty  privates  wiping  the  sweat  out  of  their 
eyes  and  blowing  kisses  at  our  tail  light. 

In  the  sanctity  of  our  freight-car  we  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  French  bread,  and  the  wine 


64         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

both  red  and  white.  We  hung  our  legs  outside 
and  watched  the  pleasant  country  as  we  rumbled 
on  our  way.  Flat  for  the  most  part,  and  very  tidy. 
Small  fields  well  fenced;  country  roads  running 
between  trim  fences;  shock-headed  willows  with 
stunted  bodies;  tall,  graceful  poplars,  and  the 
villages  sweetly  quiet  with  their  red-roofed  houses, 
with  white  walls  and  green  shutters,  clustering 
round  the  old  grey  churches,  which  were  old  and 
grey  when  the  land  we  came  from  was  not  even 
marked  on  the  map.  It  is  indeed  a  good  land, 
and  a  land  worth  fighting  for,  and  we  quite  under- 
stood how  it  was  that  people  called  it  La  Belle 
France;  and  how,  with  this  to  fight  for,  the 
French  soldiers  have  borne  so  well  the  heat  and 
the  turmoil  of  the  day.  And  the  good  folk  cheered 
us  on  our  way,  bidding  us  ''  Bon  voyage  !"  and 
''  Bon  chance  !"  and,  above  all  things,  to  drive 
back  the  Germans  from  their  fair  country. 

At  night  we  trundled  on  through  sleeping  towns 
and  villages,  clattered  over  bridges,  and  roared 
through  tunnels;  it  snowed,  and  under  the  bright 
moon  all  the  land  was  white.  And  among  the 
stars  there  was  one  that  hung  in  the  south,  and 
Lieutenant  Hume,  who  knew  nothing  of  astronomy, 
called  it  Venus,  and  said  it  was  his  star. 

''  Eot !"  said  the  Doctor,  whose  feet  were  getting 
frozen  with  the  draught  which  came  from  the  open 
door  where  the  sentimental  Lieutenant  sat,  and 
who  was  correspondingly  evil-tempered.     ''  If  it's 


LA  BELLE  FRANCE  65 

Venus,  I  bet  Montgomery  has  an  option  on  it. 
Stop  your  infernal  star-gazing  and  shut  the 
door." 

"  I  feel,"  grunted  the  Quartermaster  in  his 
slumbers,  "  like  a  frozen  sockeye;  hurry  up,  some- 
one, and  put  me  in  a  can." 

We  arrived  at  Maurice,  and  shook  the  sleep  out 
of  our  joints  and  picked  the  straw  out  of  our  hair. 
Of  course,  it  was  about  4  a.m. — it  always  is  in  this 
campaign — and  of  course  everyone  felt  like  the 
devil,  and  showed  it  in  consequence.  Naturally  it 
was  correspondingly  dark,  and  everyone  fell  over 
everyone  else,  and  the  transport  fell  on  the  top  of 
everything. 

In  the  dawn  we  marched  out  of  the  station  yard 
silently,  as  if  we  were  ashamed  of  ourselves,  and 
on  to  the  high-road,  and  so  to  seek  our  billets. 

Maurice  was  our  first  look  of  Flanders.  We  saw 
a  succession  of  ridiculous  windmills  twirling  their 
sails  in  the  breeze,  and  as  we  marched  through  the 
small  village,  we  looked  at  it  with  some  interest. 
Everything  was  there  to  which  we  later  became  so 
familiar.  The  "pave  road,  which  twisted  ankles  not 
yet  attuned  to  its  contours;  the  rows  of  houses, 
flush  with  the  main  street;  their  gardens,  if  existent, 
carefully  secreted  in  the  background.  Here  were 
estaminets  on  which  ran  sundry  legends :  "  Salt's 
Beer  c'est  le  meilleur,"  and  which  catered  for  a 
variety  of  tastes — French,  British,  and  Belgique. 
Here  was  the  red-brick  church  with  its  decapitated 

5 


66         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

tower  and  the  graveyard  of  clustering  monuments. 
I  wouldn't  like  to  be  buried  there;  they  seem  to  lie 
too  thick.  Whenever  I  see  the  throng  of  head- 
sticks,  for  they  are  not  made  of  good  sandstone  or 
granite  which  endure,  but  resemble  more  closely 
a  series  of  notices  to  keep  off  the  turf,  I  always 
imagine  the  feverish,  anxious  rush  that  will  take 
place  when  the  final  bugle  blows.  ''  Odi  profanum 
vulgus  et  arceo;"  give  me  a  grave  on  our  western 
island,  where  I  can  smell  the  breeze  of  the  Pacific, 
and  hear  the  surf  beating  on  the  shore ;  or  a  seven- 
foot  lot  in  the  mountains,  with  the  black  pines 
watching  overhead  and  nodding  in  the  wind 
blowing  cold  from  off  the  snow.  There  I'll  hear 
the  bugle  just  as  clear,  and  be  able  to  be  early  on 
parade  without  being  jostled,  bumped,  and  hustled 
as  I  fall  in. 

We  found  our  billets  and  started  to  grumble. 
This  was  our  first  experience;  later  on,  we  got 
regularly  into  the  way  of  it.  The  Brigade  strafed 
us  for  our  shortcomings  and  goings,  and  we,  who 
could  not  strafe  back,  on  account  of  discipline's 
force  of  gravity,  resorted  to  grumbhng. 

New  billets  always  gave  us  a  fitting  opportunity; 
the  best  staff  under  the  most  perfect  of  condi- 
tions would  not  have  pleased  us !  There  was 
always  plenty  of  opportunity  to  find  something 
wrong,  and  you  may  be  sure  we  found  it.  The 
companies  were  either  too  close,  or  too  scattered. 
The  Quartermaster's  store  was  too  near,  or  too 


LA  BELLE  FRANCE  67 

far  away.  The  machine-guns  were  not  with  Head- 
quarters, or  ought  to  have  been  with  the  transport  ! 

''  Just  Hke  my  ruddy  luck,"  grumbled  Lieu- 
tenant Madden;  "  they've  put  me  in  a  billet  with 
an  old  woman  with  sixteen  kids,  and  Smith  has 
got  a  peach  of  a  girl  in  his  bungalow." 

''  Yes,  he's  already  arranged  to  have  French 
lessons  from  her,"  said  Montgomery.  "  Why  do 
I  never  have  any  luck  ?  The  old  woman  in  my 
shack  has  got  a  face  like  a  door-knocker." 

Captain  Ainslie  of  the  Brigade  Staff  understood 
us  to  the  finest  point;  he  knew  at  a  glance  when 
somebody's  breakfast  lay  in  a  weighty  lump  against 
a  rebellious  liver,  and  made  his  visits  correspond- 
ingly short. 

''  All  right,  old  man;  I'll  tell  them  at  Brigade 
Headquarters.  We'll  arrange  it,"  and  was  off,  and 
within  an  hour,  when  the  liver  had  thought  better 
of  it  and  got  to  work,  the  grumbler  had  forgotten 
all  about  his  trouble,  so,  apparently,  had  the  gallant 
Captain,  as  no  message  came  from  Brigade  Head- 
quarters. One  of  the  best  was  Bob  Ainshe;  in  the 
old  days,  when  the  rush  was  on,  he  was  one  of  the 
few  who  made  the  Edmonton  trail  to  Dawson  City, 
and  the  last  five  hundred  miles  on  his  own  ! 

The  Pompadours  were  scattered  round  in  various 
farm-houses,  some  farther,  some  nearer  to  Battalion 
Headquarters,  but  none  more  distant  than  a  mile. 
They  lay  amid  hop-fields,  whose  naked  poles, 
standing  black  against  the  winter  sky  and  fields, 


68         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

looked  black  and  bare,  waiting  for  the  touch  of 
spring. 

The  Germans  had  been  here,  and  we  got  our 
first  news  of  them  from  people  who  had  actually 
seen  them.  It  wasn't  very  good  news,  for  that 
matter.  They  had  shot  the  parish  priest  against 
the  wall  of  his  church,  and  one  young  boy  of 
fourteen  under  whose  bed  an  old  and  rusty  revolver 
had  been  found;  that  was  not  all,  but  as  this  is 
not  an  account  of  atrocities,  let  it  suffice.  It 
served  to  increase  our  anxiety  to  be  up  and  doing. 
The  war  was  getting  nearer.  In  the  evening  we 
walked  out  on  the  road  and  saw  the  distant  lights, 
the  flash  of  guns,  and  we  heard  them  too,  faintly 
booming  in  the  east. 

The  days  at  sea  and  the  train  journey  had  not 
improved  our  condition,  so  we  resumed  the  prac- 
tice which  we  hoped  we  had  left  behind  us  at 
Salisbury  Plain,  and  marched  along  the  country 
roads. 

At  Maurice  we  made  the  acquaintance  of  many 
strange  phenomena,  and  Major  Hill,  meeting  for 
the  first  time  the  Flemish  national  monument  to 
thrift  and  fertility,  which  stands  in  the  centre  of 
the  courtyard  of  every  farm-house,  sent  instantly 
to  the  Medical  Officer  and  demanded  that  he  remove 
it  at  once.  So  the  Medical  Officer  gazed  at  the 
manure  pile,  and  in  order  that  the  sequence  of 
authority  might  not  be  impaired,  sent  for  the 
sanitary  sergeant  and  gave  the  necessary  orders. 


LA  BELLE  FRANCE  69 

So  the  sanitary  sergeant  went  to  Major  Hill  and 
asked  for  a  fatigue  party  to  reinforce  the  two 
sanitary  pohcemen,  who  belonged  to  that  com- 
pany, and  who  were  unable  alone  to  cope  with  the 
nuisance,  and  mentioned  that  the  Medical  Ofhcer 
thought  that  the  whole  company  would  be  required 
for  the  undertaking.  Then  Major  Hill  exploded, 
which  is  a  habit  indulged  in  by  those  of  that 
exalted  rank,  in  common  with  the  Mill's  hand- 
grenade  and  other  forms  of  awfulness,  and  was 
rude  enough  to  say  that  he  would  see  the  Medical 
Officer  damned  first.  So  the  pile  remained,  and 
other  subsequent  piles,  and,  in  the  end,  even  Major 
Hill  appeared  to  get  used  to  them,  and  regarded 
them  as  features  of  the  landscape,  the  same  as 
windmills,  estaminets,  and  churches. 

Then  we  were  inspected  by  the  Commander-in- 
Chief,  a  great  man  who  said  little,  but  seemed  to 
notice  everything.  We  were  on  our  best  behaviour, 
almost  as  good  as  when  His  Majesty  the  King 
visited  us,  and  the  men  in  the  rear  rank  forgot  to 
chew  gum;  they  had  long  ago  got  out  of  the  habit 
of  smoking  cigarettes  on  parade.  Colonel  O'Shea 
called  us  to  attention,  and  we  presented  arms  and 
stood  very  steady — nearly  as  steady  as  Kegulars, 
I  imagine.  Of  course,  if  you  are  only  a  militia- 
man you  can't  be  quite  steady  when  a  real  live 
Field-Marshal,  with  three  rows  of  medal  ribbons, 
is  passing  just  under  your  nose;  you're  bound  to 
let  your  eyes  move,  at  any  rate.     It's  only  natural ; 


70         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

you  want  to  size  up  the  man  who  is  running  the 
show,  and  see  what  sort  of  a  man  he  is. 

He  seemed  to  be  satisfied — quite  pleased,  in  fact; 
and  after  the  Commander-in-Chief  and  his  following 
had  departed,  the  Colonel  told  us  we  were  to  go 
to  the  trenches  and  learn  from  the  Imperial  troops 
there,  all  that  they  could  teach  us  for  a  week, 
and  then  we  would  come  back  to  Maurice  for  more 
training.  So  that  night  we  went  to  sleep  happy, 
and  dreamed  of  Pompadours  charging  wildly  with 
the  bayonet,  with  Colonel  O'Shea  on  the  big 
chestnut  with  white  points  at  their  head,  through 
battalions,  brigades,  divisions,  and  army  corps  of 
Germans,  right  through  the  Brandenburger  Gate, 
and  into  Unter  den  Linden,  to  the  very  gates  of 
the  palace  with  its  copper  dome. 


CHAPTER  V 
OLD  TIMEES  AND  TENDEKFEET 

We  left  Maurice  at  a  comparatively  respectable 
hour.  That  is  to  say,  we  weren't  pulled  out  of  bed 
in  the  middle  of  the  night;  we  even  got  time  for 
a  good  breakfast — an  extraordinary  act  of  for- 
bearance on  the  part  of  the  authorities !  The 
mechanical  transport  came  to  our  assistance,  and 
carried  a  blanket  for  each  of  the  men,  but  all  the 
same  we  had  far  too  much  to  carry,  as  we  found 
out  later.  A  blanket,  a  waterproof  sheet,  a  Teddy- 
bear  coat,  a  greatcoat,  in  addition  to  the  ordinary 
equipment,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  rounds  of 
ammunition,  may  be  all  right  for  a  mule,  but 
certainly  not  for  a  man.  Later  on  we  learnt  to 
travel  more  lightly,  but  for  the  moment  we  were 
bowed  down  by  the  abundance  of  our  possessions 
and  the  bounty  of  a  beneficent  Government.  As 
we  progressed,  the  sun  became  quite  hot,  and  the 
men  who  were  marching  in  greatcoats  soon  felt 
the  weight  of  their  packs. 

We  passed  through  a  provincial  town,  where  the 
Army  Corps  Commander  watched  our  progress, 
and  along  the  road  down  which  in  days  gone  by 

71 


72         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  Three  Musketeers — Athos,  Porthos,  and  Aramis 
— rode  in  search  of  Miladi.  The  three  P's  defeated 
us — the  packs,  the  pace,  and  the  fave.  Our 
Brigade  certainly  did  not  make  a  good  showing 
on  this  our  first  appearance  as  a  unit  in  the  zone 
of  war.  In  the  distance  we  saw  the  spires  and 
chimneys  of  Avranches  as  we  marched  along 
between  the  never-ending  poplars,  and  our  men 
fell  by  the  wayside  as  the  fave  twisted  and  blistered 
their  feet.  Presently  the  poplars  ceased,  and  we 
were  passing  between  rows  of  mean  two-storied 
buildings  which  crowded  forward  to  the  street. 
Women  gazed  at  us  from  the  doorways,  and  now 
and  then  came  out  and  gave  us  beer. 

This  was  an  industrial  centre,  a  district  of  brick 
houses  and  factory  employees;  and  now  we  left 
the  main  road  and  turned  to  one  side  across  the 
series  of  cross-roads.  It  was  getting  dark.  "  Keep 
to  your  right,"  shouted  the  Staff  Officers  who  rode 
up  from  behind.  ''  Right !  Right !"  shouted  the 
non-commissioned  officers.  We  bumped  into  a 
regiment  going  to  rest  billets;  they  were  Imperials 
— the  Scottish  Light  Infantry.  ''  Hullo,  Cana- 
dians !"  they  shouted  to  us  in  welcome. 

''  That's  my  old  regiment,"  volunteered  Private 
McMurdy.     "  I  was  with  them  at  Magersfontein." 

A  dark  building  with  a  spire  loomed  up  in  front. 
It  looked  like  a  church,  but  turned  out  to  be  a 
brasserie  with  a  chimney. 

''  If  you  please,  sir,  is  it  true  we  are  to  be  billeted 


OLD  TIMERS  AND  TENDERFEET      73 

in  a  brewery  ?  "  asked  the  polite  '*  War-horse  " 
McMutchkin  of  Lieutenant  Madden. 

"  Yes,  '  A '  Company  and  the  Headquarter 
details,"  answered  Lieutenant  Madden. 

''  Thank  you  very  much,  sir;  I  am  glad  I  belong 
to  '  A  '  Company.  It's  very  good  of  you  telling 
me,  sir;  I  am  very  much  obliged." 

"  Here  we  are,  here  we  are,  here  we  are  again. 
We  beat  you  on  the  Marne  and  we  beat  you  on  the  Aisne ; 
We  kicked  you  out  of  Armentieres,  and  here  we  are  again," 

sang  the  Devonshire  Fusiliers  as  they  passed  us 
on  the  crowded  road. 

*'  There  was  a  little  hen, 
And  she  had  a  wooden  leg, 
And  she  laid  more  eggs 
Than  any  chickens  on  the  farm; 
And  another  little  drink 
Wouldn't  do  us  any  harm," 

sang  the  Canadians,  who,  if  they  were  tired,  didn't 
want  to  show  it. 

*'  Will  this  be  the  brewery,  sir  ?"  said  the  polite 
voice  of  the  McMutchkin. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lieutenant  Madden,  ''  this  is  the 
brewery." 

''  Thank  you  kindly,  sir;  and  thank  God  also, 
sir." 

I  don't  think  that  anyone  was  sorry.  The  packs 
and  the  multitude  of  our  vestments  had  certainly 
told  a  tale,  to  which  eighteen  miles,  mostly  on 


74         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"pave,  had  added  a  moral,  and  as  the  men  filed  into 
their  billets  they  were  too  tired  to  grumble.  Not 
that  anyone  had  any  thought  of  complaint;  they 
were  all  too  interested  to  think  of  such  a  thing  ! 
Private  Brown  was  dragged  by  main  force  to  the 
Doctor  next  day.  Removal  of  his  shirt  disclosed 
a  gigantic  abscess  below  his  left  arm,  right  on  the 
line  of  pressure  from  his  equipment. 

"  But  how  did  you  manage  to  march  ?"  asked 
the  Doctor.  ''  It  must  have  hurt  like  the  devil. 
Why,  I  remember  I  saw  you  singing.'' 

"  Yes,  you  bet  it  hurt;  but  singing  seemed  to 
ease  it." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  go  sick  ?" 

"  I  didn't  want  to,  in  case  you  sent  me  to  hospital, 
and  I  w^ant  to  go  into  the  trenches." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  to  go  to  hospital." 

"  When,  sir  ?" 

"  Eight  now." 

*'  Can't  you  make  it  to-morrow,  sir,  and  let  me 
go  up  to  the  trenches  with  you  to-night  ?" 

"  All  right;  111  see  what  I  can  do." 

Blistered  feet  there  were  in  any  quantity  the 
next  day;  and  strained  ankles  also;  but  that  was 
on  the  morrow !  Meantime  the  transport  had 
arrived.  We  could  hear  them  outside.  The  Padre 
had  an  idea  that  the  war  has  a  chastening  effect  on 
the  minds  of  the  men,  and  that  anyone  who  goes 
through  it  must  undergo  a  gradual  moral  improve- 
ment.    He  used  to  argue  that  way  at  mess,  w^hen 


OLD  TIMEES  AND  TENDERFEET      75 

the  Doctor  got  tired  of  gloating  over  the  illegiti- 
mate population  of  Scotland  and  gave  him  a 
chance  to  speak.  The  Paymaster  used  to  tell  the 
Padre  that  he  was  talking  rubbish,  and  would  cite 
the  language  of  his  transport  as  an  example.  Then 
the  Padre  would  gird  up  his  argumentative  loins 
and  rend  the  Paymaster,  calling  him  to  confess 
that  it  might  be  worse.  The  Paymaster  was  un- 
convinced and  couldn't  see  how  it  was  possible, 
until  Lieutenant  Pillows  remarked  that  the  trans- 
port were  lambs  compared  to  his  world-beaters  on 
the  guns,  as  far  as  power  of  expression  or  anything 
else  went.  I  used  to  think  that  the  transport 
must  lie  awake  at  night  inventing  new  and  subtle 
repartees,  they  seemed  to  have  attained  to  such 
a  pitch  of  perfection.  On  this  occasion  they  were 
unduly  eloquent;  they  had  been  on  the  road  for 
sixteen  hours,  and  had  to  go  back  another  five 
miles  to  their  billets  !  To  them  bed  looked  a  very 
long  way  of!,  which,  to  some  extent,  must  have 
been  responsible  for  their  state  of  mind. 

Private  McMutchkin  was  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment. The  brewery  was  little  more  than  a  shell; 
certainly  there  was  no  beer  in  it.  It  had  been 
shelled;  the  chimney  bore  evidence  of  two  direct 
hits.  A  few  empty  barrels  lay  in  the  cellars, 
which  refused  to  respond  by  the  slightest  splash 
to  the  most  strenuous  shaking.  It  is  always  the 
way  out  here:  first  the  Germans  came  along  and 
then  the  EngHsh,  and  what  the  one  didn't  drink 


76         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  other  did,  so  the  poor  Canadian  draws  blank 
every  time.  Yet  not  every  time,  for  there  have 
been  one  or  two  glorious  exceptions  ! 

We  walked  out  to  look  at  our  surroundings. 
The  transport  rumbled  away  in  the  distance.  To 
the  east  of  us  the  German  star-shells  were  shooting 
upwards  in  the  sky. 

A  sudden  flash  illuminated  the  sky,  and  a  big 
gun  boomed  to  our  right;  here  and  there  a  rifle 
spoke  in  the  darkness,  with  its  short  peremptory 
crack.  Over  there  lay  the  goal  which  months  ago 
we  had  set  out  to  seek;  we  wondered  what  the 
morrow  might  bring. 

The  officers  of  the  Headquarters  and  ''  A " 
Company  slept  in  the  office  of  the  brewery.  The 
Padre  must  have  found  the  floor  hard,  or  perhaps 
his  mind  was  not  at  ease;  in  any  case,  he  was  first 
out  of  bed,  and  proceeded  to  make  a  perfect 
nuisance  of  himself. 

''  Show  a  leg,  Mac;  come  along.  Madden,  show 
a  leg,"  came  the  unctuous  tones. 

"  Go  to  Heligoland,"  said  the  Quartermaster. 

"  Go  and  say  your  prayers,  Padre,"  mumbled 
Pillows,  ''  and  if  you're  certain  of  your  own  soul, 
pray  for  mine." 

Lieutenant  Madden  snored  on  peacefully;  he 
and  Lindsay  refused  to  be  wakened. 

The  Adjutant  was  not  so  peacefully  inclined,  as 
a  boot  whistling  past  the  Padre's  head  bore 
witness  to. 


OLD  TIMERS  AND  TENDERFEET  77 

''  Why  don't  you  pull  the  Major  out  of  bed  if 
you  want  a  job  ?"  suggested  the  Paymaster. 

But  the  Major  was  already  there — lean,  and 
hungry,  and  eager  to  get  to  the  trenches.  Once 
Major  Meldrum  rose,  sleep  for  the  rest  of  us  was 
not  possible;  he  had  a  delicate,  persuasive  manner 
with  the  sluggards,  and  even  the  Medical  Officer  was 
persuaded  finally  to  yield  to  force  of  circumstances. 

Our  training  was  to  commence  right  away. 
Imperial  officers  from  resting  billets  and  from  the 
battalions  in  the  front  line  called  on  us.  We  were 
all  very  keen  to  learn,  and  they  only  too  pleased 
to  tell  us  what  they  knew.  We  were  to  go  into 
the  line  at  the  Bois  de  Perdrix  that  evening — 
it  was  not  possible  to  go  by  day;  so,  for  the  pre- 
sent, we  absorbed  detail  and  asked  innumerable 
questions. 

We  went  along  the  road  to  the  village.  Here 
we  saw  the  first  effect  of  shell-fire;  the  village 
church  had  for  many  months  been  the  target  of 
the  German  gunners.  We  gazed  in  interest  at 
the  shell-holes,  the  rents  in  the  pavement,  and  the 
graves  torn  up.  Here  in  the  square,  water-carts 
were  filling  up  at  the  pump,  their  drivers  sitting 
by  unconcernedly  smoking  cigarettes. 

The  German  trenches  lay  at  most  a  mile  from 
us,  seething  with  every  form  of  Kultur  and  fright- 
fulness,  and  we  felt  very  brave  at  having  come  so 
far.  Yet  here  were  women  standing  in  the  doors 
of  houses,  and  little  children  playing  in  the  street; 


78         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

estaminets  drove  a  flourishing  business  and  shops 
displayed  their  wares — all  this  well  within  reach 
even  of  German  field-guns.  And  here  daily  the 
shrapnel  squirted  and  shells  dropped.  The  destruc- 
tion centred  round  the  church;  otherwise  little 
damage  had  been  done.  The  houses  were  all  well 
provided  with  cellars,  and  when  a  shrill,  high- 
pitched  scream  heralded  the  approaching  shell, 
everyone  promptly  went  to  ground,  until  such 
time  as  the  Huns  ceased  fire,  when  the  interrupted 
business  of  the  day  was  resumed. 

Round  this  village  were  many  British  graves, 
carefully  tended,  each  with  its  white  cross,  setting 
out  the  name,  number,  and  regiment  of  the  dead; 
and,  as  a  further  precaution,  the  same  particulars 
are  buried  in  a  bottle  at  the  foot  of  the  grave. 
Here  were  representatives  of  those  gallant  Imperial 
units  who  drove  the  Germans  out  of  the  Bois  de 
Perdrix  in  the  fall  of  1914,  and  here  were  also 
nameless  graves,  as  a  cross  bore  witness  to:  ''  Here 
lies  an  unknown  French  soldier  of  the  97th  Eegi- 
ment."  Though  unknown,  he  was  not  forgotten, 
as  the  flowers  and  ornaments  that  m_arked  the  spot 
bore  witness.  Farther  down  the  road  was  a  large 
moand  marked  by  a  simple  cross:  ''  Here  the  bodies 
of  sixty  men  of  the  — th  Regiment  of  Bavarians 
are  buried,"  and  a  few  yards  farther,  another  forty 
lay  in  their  nameless  grave.  Truly  it  had  been 
an  excellent  killing,  and  their  losses  out  of  all 
proportion  to  our  own  ! 


OLD  TIMERS  AND  TENDERFEET      79 

A  private  of  the  King's  Cumberlaiids  was  passing. 
''  Were  you  here  last  autumn  when  these  were 
killed  ?"  asked  Captain  Wales. 

"  Yes,  sir;  w^e  attacked  across  that  field  over  there. 
They  held  us  up  a  bit  at  first,  but  the  Highland 
Borderers  came  at  them  through  the  wood  with  the 
bayonet." 

"  Did  they  fight  well  ?" 

"Who?     The  Highlanders?" 

"  No,  of  course  not;  we  know  the  Highlanders. 
I  mean  the  Germans." 

"  No,  rotten.  It  was  like  killing  sheep.  If  we'd 
only  had  a  few  more  men,  we'd  have  gone  right 
through  them;  they  were  lying  all  over  the 
place." 

A  Captain  of  the  Westmorelands  was  walking 
down  the  road  with  rapid  strides;  he  seemed 
unduly  elated  over  something;  he  paused  to  ask 
the  exact  time. 

"  I'm  just  off  on  leave.  Think  of  it  1  The 
Empire  to-morrow  night."     And  he  was  gone. 

''  I  don't  think  much  of  those  English  officers," 
remarked  John  Wallace;  ''  they're  always  talking 
of  leave.  I've  come  out  here  to  fight,  not  to  get 
leave." 

''  You  wait,  Johnny,  until  you've  been  out  here 
for  six  months  like  those  chaps,"  said  the  Quarter- 
master. 

"  Yes,  when  you've  had  trench  feet  for  weeks 
and   all  your  friends   have   been  killed,   it'll  be 


80  MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

permanent  leave  you'll  apply  for,  and  not  three 
days  in  London,"  Captain  Wales  added. 

That  evening  under  cover  of  darkness  we  went 
into  the  trenches.  We  were  the  guests  of  the 
Cumberland  Light  Infantry.  From  their  Battahon 
Headquarters  the  way  lay  along  the  road  beside 
the  wood;  here  were  plenty  of  bullets,  that  zipped 
and  chirped  as  they  sped  past  to  find  their  billets. 
It  was  difficult  to  keep  from  ducking  when  an 
occasional  one  sang  through  the  air  really  near  to 
us.  Our  guide  was  very  encouraging.  ''  Don't 
hang  around  here;  they've  got  a  fixed  rifle  trained 
on  this  spot.  We  lost  our  officer  here  last  week. 
There,  I  told  you  so,"  as  a  bullet  hummed  past 
and  buried  itself  with  a  thud  in  a  tree.  ''  Hurry 
past  this  corner;  they've  a  machine-gun  on  this 
place.     We  had  two  men  hit  here  last  night." 

A  sentry  challenged  and  our  guide  answered. 
We  were  now  in  the  support  line.  The  German 
star-lights  flying  skywards  from  time  to  time 
illuminated  the  scene.  Here  were  sandbags  and 
much  wire,  and  a  few  sent^^ies  at  their  posts.  The 
remainder  of  the  supporting  company  were  away 
on  working-party  duties,  busy  putting  Flanders 
into  sandbags,  or  spinning  the  interminable  spider's 
web  of  barbed  \vire. 

We  passed  through  a  shot-torn  hamlet.  In  the 
fleeting  glimpses  we  saw  the  ruined  houses  rein- 
forced with  sandbags,  and  loopholes  made  eyes  at 
us  through  a  network  of  wire.     A  nasty  place  to 


OLD  TIMERS  AND  TENDERFEET      81 

attack,  and  probably  crammed  with,  machine-guns. 
A  pallid  Christ  hung  brooding  over  the  ruins  of 
the  village,  alone,  untouched,  amid  all  the  scene 
of  destruction. 

The  communication  trenches  were  filled  with 
water,  so  we  walked  across  the  open ;  two  barricades 
with  inquisitive  sentries  were  passed,  and  we 
entered  the  front-line  trench. 

Here  all  was  order.  The  trench  was  dry,  which 
was  more  than  we  had  expected;  also  it  was  safe, 
and,  to  a  certain  extent,  comfortable. 

*'  Tell  your  chaps  to  keep  their  heads  down. 
They're  a  bit  bigger  than  our  men,"  suggested  a 
Captain  of  the  Cumberlands. 

Against  the  parapet  of  well-piled  sandbags  were 
rifle-rests,  and  every  few  yards  down  the  firing- 
step  stood  a  sentry,  watching  brother  Bosche 
across  the  way.  Our  backs  rested  against  the 
parados,  and  standing  thus,  there  was  scarce  room 
for  anyone  to  pass.  Here  and  there,  excavated  amid 
the  sandbags,  like  rudimentary  cave-dwellings,  were 
dugouts  for  the  officers  and  men  to  sleep  in ;  stuffed 
with  straw  and  supplemented  with  sundry  household 
furniture,  they  made  fairly  comfortable  quarters. 

The  Medical  Officer  was  of  the  party,  and  to  his 
huge  delight  Private  Brown*  was  also  present, 
forgetful  of  his  arm  and  full  of  eagerness ;  and  while 
the  others  were  being  initiated  in  trench  routine 
and    discipline,    they    slipped    along    the    trench 

*  See  page  74. 


82         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

searching  for  fresh  sensations.  Down  the  trench 
the  Medical  Officer  was  spotted  by  a  youthful 
subaltern  of  the  Cumberlands,  who,  being  of  a 
humorous  disposition,  suggested  a  visit  to  a 
listening  post. 

''  Certainly,"  assented  our  quack,  vaguely 
imagining  that  a  listening  post  had  something  to 
do  with  the  telephone  system.  The  subaltern  led 
the  way,  the  doctor,  all  innocence,  following  reck- 
lessly. They  crawled  through  a  hole  low  down 
in  the  parapet,  along  the  foot  of  a  water-logged 
sap,  then  through  a  maze  of  barbed  wire,  where  the 
Doctor  got  hopelessly  entangled,  to  the  detriment 
of  his  nether  garments. 

"  Funny  place  to  keep  signallers,"  muttered  the 
Doctor  to  himself,  wondering  meanwhile  what  a 
listening  post  really  was,  but  loath  to  show  his 
ignorance. 

''  When  a  flare  goes  up,  grovel,"  whispered  the 
subaltern,  as  they  proceeded  forward  cautiously. 
Presently  they  reached  a  stunted  willow  beside  a 
miniature  stream.  The  Doctor  had  by  this  time 
lost  all  idea  of  direction. 

''  There  they  are — over  there,"  whispered  the 
subaltern,  indicating  an  undulating  pile  of  sand- 
bags dimly  visible  some  forty  yards  in  front. 

"  Who  ?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

*'  The  Germans,  of  course." 

"  Oh."  Then  a  bright  idea  striking  him:  *'  And 
where  are  our  trenches  ?" 


OLD  TIMEKS  AND  TENDERFEET       83 

"  Why,  behind  us,  of  course  " — jerking  his  head 
in  their  direction. 

''  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  we  are  in  between  the 
two  lines  ?"  anxiously  inquired  the  Medical  Officer. 

''  Yes;  rather  nearer  the  Germans  than  our  own 
people." 

''  Then  what  the  deuce  am  I  doing  here  ?  I  am 
going  home." 

A  few  moments  later  the  Medical  Officer  was 
safely  back  in  the  trench,  which  he  preferred, 
sitting  quietly  on  the  firing-step,  to  taking  an  active 
part  in  any  more  expeditions.  Here  he  found  a 
private  of  the  Cumberlands  who  seemed  inclined 
to  talk. 

"  What's  your  name  ?"  inquired  the  Doctor. 

''  Smith,  sir — the  only  Smith." 

''  Really,  you  surprise  me.     Why  ?" 

''  Well,  Fm  rather  well  known.  You  see,  I 
always  get  drunk  in  billets,  so  they  keep  me  in 
the  front  line  by  way  of  punishment  for  the  good 
of  my  health.     I've  not  been  out  for  weeks." 

To  the  Doctor  this  method  of  punishment 
appeared  unique,  but  not  more  so  than  the  punished 
one,  who,  seated  on  the  top  of  the  parapet,  evinced 
a  profound  contempt  for  the  enemy  snipers. 

''  Don't  you  think  your  health  will  suffer  if  you 
sit  up  there  ^     You  might  get  a  chill." 

Later  on,  when  opportunity  afforded,  he  inquired 
of  one  of  the  officers  as  to  Private  Smith's  ante- 
cedents and  idiosyncrasies. 


84         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEES  FIELDS 

''  Oh,  Smith — he's  a  top-hole  chap.  Ready  for 
anything.  He'll  go  across  to  the  German  trenches 
and  lasso  one  of  them  any  time  you  ask  him. 
Always  good-tempered  and  a  splendid  man  in  the 
trenches." 

''  But  he  tells  me  he's  being  punished." 

''  Punished — yes,  always.  In  billets  he's  always 
drunk,  damned  nuisance,  wanting  to  fight;  so  we 
keep  him  in  the  front  line." 

A  Canadian  came  down  the  trench.  ' 

"  Is  the  Medical  Officer  here  ?" 

''  Yes,"  said  the  Doctor  from  his  seat  on  the 
firing-step. 

''  You're  wanted;  there's  a  man  badly  hit." 

The  Medical  Officer  moved  along  the  trench. 

There  it  lay,  all  that  remained  of  one  of  the 
best  boys  in  the  regiment,  the  light  of  an  electric 
torch  streaming  on  his  white  and  upturned  face, 
a  small  blue  mark  in  the  centre  of  his  forehead. 
It  was  Private  Brown. 

*'  How  did  it  happen  ?"  asked  the  Medical 
Officer. 

''  He  said  he  was  to  go  to  hospital  to-morrow 
and  wanted  to  have  a  shot  at  the  Germans," 
answered  one  of  the  Cumberlands. 

He  was  quite  dead,  but  on  the  still,  pale  face 
was  a  look  of  peaceful  satisfaction. 

When  we  looked  at  the  trenches,  and  recognized 
the  work  which  had  been  put  in  to  make  them 
habitable,  and  thought  of  the  thin  line  that  had 


OLD  TIMERS  AND  TENDERFEET       85 

held  on  for  so  many  weary  months  in  winter,  we 
felt  we  were  beginning  to  learn.  In  those  early 
days  there  were  no  sandbags,  the  wire  amounted 
at  times  to  only  one  strand,  and  everyone  was  in 
the  front-line  trench.  Cooks,  parsons,  batmen,  and 
paymasters.  We  had  read  of  the  Battle  of  Ypres, 
and  the  thin  screen  of  dismounted  cavalry  who 
held  the  line  from  Zandvoorde  south  to  opposite 
Frelinghein,  but  now,  for  the  first  time,  we  under- 
stood what  it  had  really  meant.  And  here  we 
found  representatives  of  the  famous  regiments  who 
had  taken  part  in  those  glorious  early  days.  The 
trenches  were  dry  now,  and,  wrapped  like  cocoons 
in  a  mesh  of  wire,  were  comparatively  safe;  but 
we  thought  of  the  days  of  the  single  strand,  of  the 
troops  standing  knee-deep  in  water,  of  the  trenches 
sliding  and  puddling  across  the  map,  and  the 
endless  anxiety  and  weary  waiting.  We  hoped 
we  might  do  as  well  as  those  who  had  gone  before. 
Meantime  others  of  our  battalion  had  been  hard 
at  work.  Working-parties  had  been  busy  wiring 
and  sand-bagging,  and  when  we  returned  to  the 
brewery,  we  found  the  night  had  not  forgotten  to 
take  its  toll.  One  officer  and  one  man  killed,  and 
two  men  wounded.  It  was  Lieutenant  Beaumont, 
one  of  our  very  best.  The  first  on  every  parade  and 
duty,  and  now  the  first  to  go.  Ask  of  his  fellow- 
officers  and  the  men  under  him  if  you  want  to 
know.  His  name  stands  large  in  the  little  Flemish 
churchyard,  but  his  epitaph  is  written  for  ever  in 


86         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

their  hearts.  Private  Brown  lies  beside  him,  for 
in  the  churchyard  all  ranks  are  equal.  They  were 
our  first. 

Later  on  we  became  more  accustomed  to  losing 
our  friends,  but  with  the  first  few  it  is  always 
hard. 

The  next  afternoon  we  went  Hun-shooting.  Up 
through  the  wood  we  picked  our  way,  along 
Waterloo  Place,  and  into  Piccadilly,  then  up 
Shaftesbury  Avenue  and  Tottenham  Court  Road. 
Turning  to  the  right  in  the  Euston  Road,  we 
arrived  at  the  ruined  estaminet.  Here  the  upper 
floor  provided  an  excellent  observation  post. 

A  hundred  yards  in  front  of  us  lay  our  own 
trenches,  steeped  in  the  slumber  which  attends 
the  consumption  of  a  midday  meal  of  Army  rations, 
and  beyond  them,  another  hundred  and  fifty  yards, 
the  Hun  Hne  of  sandbags.  The  Colonel  mth  a 
borrowed  rifle,  ensconced  behind  a  loophole  of 
sandbags,  lay  waiting  an  opportunity.  It  was  a 
good  rifle,  as  seventeen  notches  on  the  stock  bore 
witness  to,  but  the  Hun  was  crafty  as  a  badger. 
Occasionally  a  head  would  show  for  an  all  too 
fleeting  second,  but  that  was  all.  They  also  were 
steeped  in  somnolence.  Captain  Grosvenor  at 
another  angle  of  the  building  also  drew  blank. 
Hun-hunting  was  evidently  a  difficult  amusement. 

That  night  we  visited  the  Westmorelands. 
There  was  a  company  relief  taking  place.  No 
parade  or  any  form  of  military  ostentation.     At 


OLD  TIMEES  AND  TENDEEFEET      87 

the  sound  of  a  whistle  the  men  left  their  billets, 
and  like  workmen  going  to  their  daily  task,  wan- 
dered towards  the  trenches.  In  twos  and  threes, 
selecting  the  route  that  pleased  them  best,  they 
straggled  across  country;  at  the  entrance  of  the 
trench  a  sergeant  noted  down  their  names  as  they 
filed  in.  It  might  have  been  a  shift  of  coal-miners 
entering  the  pit-head.  The  company  officers  ex- 
plained the  phenomenon  by  saying  that  their 
casualties  in  going  across  country  in  isolated 
groups  in  this  manner  were  much  less. 

We  had  a  full  parade  of  Cook's  tourists  again. 
The  Quartermaster,  his  Highland  blood  afire,  led 
the  way.  The  Padre,  in  an  unbecoming  woolly 
helmet  that  looked  like  a  melted  mitre,  and  the 
Paymaster  in  gumboots,  followed  him  enthusi- 
astically. 

Here  was  a  shattered  convent,  just  behind  the 
front  line,  and  here  the  party  paused.  Zip  !  Biff  ! 
Bang  !  The  Quartermaster  jumped  a  foot  in  the 
air,  and  then  remembering  about  twenty  seconds 
too  late  ducked,  as  a  cloud  of  broken  brick  from 
the  wall  just  above  his  head  powdered  him  with 
fine  dust.  The  Padre  smiled.  Judging  from  his 
sermons,  he  appears  to  have  plenty  of  imagination, 
but  it  all  seems  to  go  when  the  bullets  start  to 
flop  around. 

The  Doctor  is  always  explaining  this  matter  to 
us.  He  maintains  that  in  this  war,  which  he  says  is 
quite  the  worst  war  he  has  taken  part  in  during  forty 


88         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEKS  FIELDS 

years,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  fear.  Some  people 
with  no  imagination  can  go  on  under  fire  inde- 
finitely, as  they  don't  think  what  it  might  mean 
to  have  one's  spinal  cord  severed,  or  to  be  blinded 
by  a  bursting  shell.  He  says  that  he  is  constantly 
thinking  out  what  he  calls  anatomical  relationships, 
and  considering  what  organs  a  bullet  hitting  him 
in  a  certain  place  at  a  certain  angle  will  penetrate. 

He  has  undoubtedly  a  morbid  mind,  and  the 
Adjutant  is  threatening  to  make  him  take  his 
meals  by  himself,  unless  he  discontinues  this 
practice. 

In  any  case,  the  Padre  is  wonderful;  his  soul 
may  be  at  peace — perhaps  that  is  the  reason.  If 
so,  the  Doctor's  and  the  Quartermaster's  must  be 
in  a  turmoil.  The  Paymaster,  on  the  other  hand, 
shows  a  wonderful  fortitude.  They  say  he  has 
estimated  his  chances  of  longevity  by  some  actuarial 
system  of  his  own — the  flat  surface  of  his  profile  in 
proportion  to  the  entire  extent  of  the  British  front 
as  a;  is  to  a  bullet.  Nobody  knows  what  he  means 
by  this,  especially  as  his  profile  is  anything  but 
flat ;  but  he  is  satisfied  that  if  he  visits  the  trenches 
twice  a  week  during  the  next  five  years,  his  chances 
of  being  hit  are  1  in  439,625.  As  an  order  has 
just  appeared  prohibiting  Paymasters  from  entering 
the  front  line,  his  expectations  of  life  would  appear 
to  be  still  more  rosy. 

We  had  spent  a  week  with  these  two  famous 
regiments,    and    they    had    done   us    proud,    en- 


OLD  TIMEKS  AND  TENDERFEET      89 

couraging  us  when  it  was  seemly  and  showing  us 
how  best  to  correct  our  weaknesses.  They  found 
us  quick  to  learn  just  as  they  were  ready  to  teach; 
and  the  lessons  the  finest  in  the  world.  AVhen  we 
left  the  Bois  de  Perdrix  our  period  of  apprentice- 
ship was  over;  all  that  remained  was  to  put  it  in 
practice.  When  we  left  Maurice  we  had  been  told 
we  were  to  return  there  after  our  first  spell  in  the 
trenches,  but  evidently  the  authorities  were  pleased 
with  us,  for  we  were  told,  to  our  profound  satis- 
faction, that  we  had  not  been  found  wanting,  and 
were  to  hold  a  piece  of  line  of  our  own. 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  GLORY  OF  WAR 

A  Highland  battalion  was  coming  down  the  road; 
we  politely  drew  to  one  side  to  let  it  pass.  Of 
course,  we  had  been  initiated,  but  still  we  were  new 
to  the  game,  compared  to  these  representatives  of 
the  ''  iron  division  "  !  They  had  spent  the  winter 
up  to  their  knees  in  the  water  of  the  trenches, 
which  slopped  around  the  landscape,  and  for  months 
they  had  been  gazing  across  the  remains  of  a  para- 
pet, whose  sandbags  had  disappeared  in  the  mud, 
and  at  a  few  dilapidated  strands  of  barbed  wire. 
These  were  the  gay  Gordons.  Perhaps  at  the 
moment  they  hardly  could  be  described  as  gay, 
but  they  looked  their  very  best. 

Taking  over  trenches  is  always  rather  a  test  for 
those  new  at  the  game.  There  are  abundant 
facilities  for  getting  lost,  and  for  the  nervous  an 
excellent  opportunity  to  get  rattled;  but  on  this 
the  first  occasion  that  we  had  taken  over  a  line  for 
ourselves  we  didn't  do  badly.  I  heard  the  Adjutant 
damning  the  Doctor,  who  might  in  perfect  fairness 
have  damned  back,  which  would  not  have  been 
subservient    to    good    order    and    disciphne,    and 

90 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  91 


V- 


would  certainly  not  have  been  polite;  although  in 
this  case  he  was  perfectly  in  the  right.  Six  months 
ago  he  would  probably  have  told  the  Adjutant  all 
about  it,  but  in  this  instance  he  merely  registered  a 
mental  note  to  scarify  the  petulant  one  in  private. 
Down  the  road,  behind  the  battalion,  the  trans- 
port could  be  heard  swearing  its  way  towards  the 
trenches.  The  language  was  really  rather  pic- 
turesque, but  the  Padre,  standing  at  the  dressing- 
station  door,  shook  his  head  and  said  it  was 
shocking.  The  transport  officer  was  not  so  careful 
of  his  remarks  as  he  might  have  been;  in  fact, 
some  of  his  expressions  were  rather  lurid,  but  the 
result  was  excellent:  the  transport  arrived  every 
time  ! 

By  nine  o'clock  the  relief  was  finished,  and  we 
wandered  up  to  visit  the  Battalion  Headquarters. 
The  night  was  dark,  but  on  three  sides  of  us  the 
German  star-shells  rose  and  fell.  It  is,  I  suppose, 
due  to  some  physical  law  that,  no  matter  where 
one  stands  in  the  light  at  night,  as  judged  by  the 
falling  starlight,  one  always  appears  to  be  in  a 
salient.  I  asked  our  local  member  of  the  Church 
how  he  explained  this,  and  he  mumbled  something 
about  the  rotundity  of  the  earth's  surface,  or  the 
conformation  of  the  ground,  and  at  once  returned 
to  the  subject  of  the  transport's  language.  The 
Padre  evidently  didn't  know,  and  was  merely 
bluffing. 

We  strolled  up  the  road,  a  narrow  road,  but  with 


92         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

a  wonderful  surface — considering  what  had  been 
required  of  it  during  the  previous  months — a  row 
of  ^\dllows  on  our  left,  a  deep  ditch  on  our  right. 
A  shadow  loomed  up,  a  farm-house  and  two  hay- 
stacks. A  sentry  challenged  in  the  darkness,  with 
a  rattle  of  arms  and  a  sharp  inquiry.  This  was 
the  billet  of  our  support  company.  Outside  their 
first-Hne,  transport  hmbers  were  handing  out 
supplies.  Not  a  light  showed;  there  was  little 
talking,  and  all  to  the  point.  Could  this  be  the 
same  chattering,  cigarette-smoking  Canadian 
Militia  of  Valcartier  ? 

We  went  inside.  Captain  Cope  and  Lieutenant 
Bromfield  greeted  us.  They  were  delighted  with 
their  billets,  which  were  better  than  they  had 
expected.  We  wandered  down  the  road.  There 
was  a  lot  of  rifle-fire,  but  the  work  of  unloading 
the  limbers  went  on  undisturbed.  The  sergeant  in 
charge  said  the  shots  were  all  ''  overs,"  and  were 
missing  the  road  by  yards.  Round  the  bend  we 
came  on  a  shrine,  untouched,  a  few  blackened 
walls,  a  pile  of  straw — all  that  was  left  of  the  roof 
and  sides  of  Dead  Pig  Farm.  Another  challenge 
from  the  darkness  we  answered  to  the  best  of  our 
ability,  but  our  interrogator  was  invisible. 

''  Where  the  devil  are  you  ?"  demanded  our 
importunate  transport  officer,  his  voice  quivering 
with  emotion  and  a  man-eating  gleam  in  his  eye. 
"  How  the  Hades  can  I  advance  and  be  recognized 
when  I  don't  know  where  you  are  ?"     The  hectic 


THE  GLORY  OF  WA^R  93 

expressions  of  the  transport  officer  were  not  without 
effect;  thus  exhorted,  a  figure  emerged  from  the 
seclusion  of  the  shrine,  which  stood  by  the  road- 
side, and  proceeded  to  go  through  the  process  of 
recognizing  us. 

"  Pass,  friend;  all's  well." 

"  All's  well,"  sniffed  Lieutenant  Cousins  as  we 
proceeded  on  our  way.     "  I'm  hanged  if  it  is  !" 

''  I  like  a  sentry  who  stands  right  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  who  is  armed  with  a  lantern,  so 
that  you  see  him  a  mile  off.  This  Jack-in-the- 
box  business  is  rather  trying  on  the  nerves," 
commented  the  Doctor. 

The  Padre  was  doubtful.  He  found  it  was  not 
quite  proper;  this  misappropriation  of  Church 
property  for  such  base  uses  as  a  sentry-box  was 
hardly  justifiable. 

''  Absolute  rubbish  1"  said  the  Quartermaster. 
"  He's  a  wise  man,  and  he's  paying  you  and  your 
religion  a  high  comphment.  Shrines  and  crucifixes 
don't  get  hit,  and  well  your  sentry  knows  it." 

The  Quartermaster  was  right,  as  he  usually  was : 
amid  the  wrecks  of  towns  and  villages,  with  houses 
flattened  to  the  ground  and  gardens  and  roads  torn 
with  shot  and  shell,  the  shrines  and  crucifixes  are 
rarely  touched.  Churches  may  be  wrecked,  their 
steeples  come  toppling  to  the  ground,  and  their 
roofs  burn,  but  the  high  altar  will  escape  destruc- 
tion. And  this  is  the  more  remarkable  as  it  is  at 
the  cross-roads,  where  these  sacred  symbols  are 


94         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

mainly  to  be  found,  that  the  Germans  have  a 
pecuhar  penchant  for  dropping  their  high  explosive. 

While  the  transport  officer  was  nosing  his  way 
through  the  darkness  like  a  well-trained  pointer, 
the  Padre  and  the  Quartermaster  plunged  into  a 
religious  controversy.  The  Padre  slumped  for 
stone  altars  and  incense,  while  Mac  urged  the 
claims  of  John  Knox  and  Jenny  Geddes. 

''  John  Knox  may  have  been  all  right,  but  I 
could  never  forgive  the  way  the  old  blighter  spoke 
to  Queen  Mary.  He  certainly  must  have  bored 
her  to  tears,  besides  being  excessively  rude  to  her," 
remarked  the  Doctor. 

Little  Willy,  alias  Bill  Minor,  aUas  Lieutenant 
Cousins,  had  just  located  the  Battalion  Head- 
quarters. In  front  of  us  loomed  a  long  dark 
object.  This,  we  were  informed,  was  the  convent 
wall. 

''  Good  1"  said  the  Paymaster.  This  was  the 
first  time  he  had  betrayed  any  interest  in  the  night's 
proceedings.     ''  Where  are  the  nuns  ?" 

Here  we  found  the  headquarters.  Down  eight 
steps,  turn  to  the  right  through  a  mackintosh 
sheet,  down  two  more  steps,  and  we  are  in  the 
dugout.  Bunks  down  either  side  stufied  with 
straw,  a  stove  at  the  far  end,  in  the  centre  a  long 
narrow  table — at  once  the  orderly  room  and  the 
mess  mahogany. 

Here  we  find  first  the  O.C.,  duly  attired  in 
gumboots  and  a  Balaclava  cap,  resting  quietly  and 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  '     95 

reading  a  newspaper  while  waiting  to  go  round  the 
trenches.  Secondly,  Major  Meldrum — alert,  eager, 
and  implacable,  thirsting  to  carve  or  capture  any 
German  at  a  moment's  notice.  He  was  seated  on 
a  box  of  bombs,  and  seemed  entirely  at  his  ease. 
Thirdly,  the  Adjutant,  much  harassed  and  over- 
worked, with  the  entire  orderly-room  literature 
divided  between  the  dugout  table  and  his  trousers 
pocket. 

Enter  an  orderly.  Orderly  to  Adjutant : ''  You're 
wanted  on  the  'phone.  Brigade  Headquarters, 
sir." 

Adjutant: ''Damn!" 

Exit  orderly.     Exit  Adjutant. 

The  Quartermaster  laughs,  the  Padre  endeavours 
to  look  shocked,  but  merely  succeeds  in  shaking  his 
head.  The  remainder  continue  their  various  pur- 
suits undisturbed. 

Enter  Adjutant.  Adjutant  to  Medical  Officer: 
*'  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  putting  your 
dressing-station  twenty  miles  behind  the  German 
lines  ?" 

"  I  never  did." 

"  That's  the  worst  of  trusting  to  a  pill-seller. 
I  sent  your  map  reference  straight  into  Brigade 
without  checking  it  up.  Now  Brigade  rings  up 
and  wants  to  know  if  you've  deserted,  or  if  you're 
spending  the  summer  in  Lille.  What  map  did  you 
use  ?" 

The  inarticulate  Medical  Officer  merely  handed 


96         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  sheet  A  99  to  the  outraged  Adjutant.  ''  Well, 
why  in  the  name  of  all  the  holy  gods  do  you  call 
it  A  98  ?  For  Heaven's  sake  stick  to  pills  and 
poultices,  and  get  a  man  to  run  your  map  locations 
for  you  !" 

Enter  orderly.  Orderly  to  Adjutant:  *' You're 
wanted  on  the  'phone." 

Adjutant:  ''Damn!" 

Exit  orderly.     Exit  Adjutant. 

Outside  the  sound  of  men  marching.  A  sentry 
challenges,  the  party  halts. 

Enter  Adjutant.  Adjutant  to  Colonel : ''  Brigade 
wants  to  know  if  we've  any  skilled  telegraph 
operators  in  the  battalion." 

Colonel:  ''Notify  the  companies.  We'll  soon 
have  nobody  left  in  the  battalion  at  all." 

Enter  orderly.  Orderly  to  Adjutant:  "You're 
wanted  on  the  'phone,  sir." 

Adjutant:  "  Damn  !" 

Exit  orderly.     Exit  Adjutant. 

We  now  leave  the  headquarters  dugout,  with 
its  low  roof,  its  straw-filled  bunks,  the  damp  floor- 
boards and  smoking  stove,  and  ascend  to  the 
ground-level.  Here  in  the  shadow  of  the  convent 
wall  is  a  road,  raised  above  the  immediately 
surrounding  country,  and  here  are  dugouts  and 
stores,  ammunition-boxes,  rolls  of  barbed  wire, 
and  entrenching  tools.  For  this  is  a  war  of  wire 
and  trench,  of  sap  and  machine-guns,  of  much 
patient  waiting  and  thoughtful  pauses. 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  97 

There  is  a  delightful  feeling  of  security  in  six 
inches  of  convent  wall.  Every  now  and  then  a 
bullet  slaps  on  the  far  side  with  a  splash  of  nickel, 
and  a  splutter  of  broken  brick. 

We  wander  along  the  wall,  stumbling  in  the  dark. 
Here  are  the  remains  of  the  convent,  white  and 
ghastly  wreckage  in  the  darkness.  We  drop 
through  a  hole  in  the  wall  into  the  enclosure,  and 
we  are  in  the  convent  garden. 

Here,  in  days  gone  by,  the  nuns  wandered  in 
pious  meditation,  pressing  the  daisies  with  their 
dainty  feet,  as  they  speculated  on  the  mysteries 
of  life  and  death.  We  would  sooner  discuss  the 
vagaries  of  wine  and  song  and  dance,  but  that 
is  not  the  point — nuns  are  nuns,  and  we  are  merely 
details.  Here,  beside  a  flooded  communication 
trench,  through  some  barbed- wire  entanglements, 
we  pass  across  the  ever-sacred  enclosure.  Our  way 
was  not  without  its  dangers.  Shell-holes  filled 
with  water  gaped  on  all  sides,  while  trenches, 
whether  for  drainage  or  communication,  yawned 
at  our  feet,  and  were  crossed  in  the  fleeting  glow 
of  the  falling  starlight. 

Sergeant  Ramrod,  who  was  of  the  party,  was  not 
too  fortunate,  as  a  splash  in  the  darkness  pro- 
claimed. He  chose  what  was  possibly  the  deepest 
part  of  the  trench  to  disappear  into,  and  was  with 
difficulty  rescued.  He  was  mud  from  the  points 
of  his  moustache  to  the  inside  of  his  cholera  belt, 

and  where  he  was  not  mud,  he  was  water.     He 

7 


98         MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

got  little  comfort,  as  a  voice  from  the  darkness 
muttered:  *' There  goes  that  sanguinary  fool 
Ramrod  ;  always  shoving  his  nose  into  things 
that  don't  concern  him."  He  was  advised  to 
retire  to  the  rear,  and  get  a  wash  and  brush-up 
at  the  dressing-station. 

We  arrived  at  the  front  line  without  any  further 
casualty.  Here  we  found  "  A  "  Company.  "  Come 
in  and  make  yourselves  at  home  !"  the  officers 
shouted  as  we  butted  into  their  commodious 
chateau.  It  was  all  above  ground;  the  east  wall 
of  the  convent  enclosure  formed  the  back,  and  the 
rest  of  the  hut  was  of  the  lean-to  species.  Here 
were  Major  Berkeley,  John  Wallace,  and  Lieu- 
tenants Puddiphat  and  Pillows.  ''  What  will  you 
drink  ?  Tea,  coffee,  cocoa,  rum,  soup,  or  bovril  ? 
Sorry  they're  mostly  teetotal,  but  we  haven't 
arranged  our  source  of  supply  yet." 

The  parson  and  the  Doctor  made  themselves 
at  home,  and  accepted  the  proffered  delicacies,  the 
Padre  bovril  and  the  Medical  Officer  something 
stronger. 

''  Has  the  Colonel  found  his  gumboots  yet  ?  Is 
he  coming  round  to-night  ?  How's  Grosvenor's 
Hver  ?"  The  clerical  and  medical  professions  did 
their  best  to  answer  these  questions.  Suddenly 
the  door  of  the  hut  was  thrown  open,  and  a  small 
eager  officer  entered.  ''  What  I  say  is,  '  one  man 
one  woman.'  Pillows,  you  Hun  !  you've  got  your 
feet  on  my  bed  1"    It  was  Lieutenant  Bridges. 


THE  GLOEY  OF  WAE  99 

''  What's  all  that  firing  ?"  asked  the  Major. 

''  Oh,  nothing;  only  the  Highlanders  on  the 
right  with  the  wind  up.  They're  crazy,  anyhow. 
They've  probably  had  too  much  rum." 

The  Padre  and  Medical  Officer  wandered  down 
the  trench.  It  was  dark,  but  still.  On  the  firing- 
steps,  peering  across  at  No  Man's  Land,  were  the 
sentries,  stamping  their  feet  as  they  stood  with 
their  hands  in  their  pockets.  From  time  to  time, 
as  the  two  non-combatants  progressed,  they  were 
challenged,  and  their  identity  inquired  into.  The 
Bosche  was  quiet,  but  from  time  to  time  a 
rifle-shot  rang  out,  our  people  answering  not 
at  all. 

It  was  the  Bois  de  Perdrix,  and  yet  not  the  same. 
There,  we  were  serving  our  apprenticeship;  here, 
we  had  taken  out  our  papers.  We  had  not  been 
found  wanting — rather  otherwise,  I  imagine — and 
we  were  at  last  beyond  the  incubation  stage,  and 
full-blown  accredited  members  of  the  British 
Expeditionary  Force.  There  were  Imperial  troops 
to  right  and  left  of  us,  but  for  three  miles  of  line 
were  Canadians  and  Canadians  only.  It  was  a 
great  night  for  Canada,  a  great  night  for  the 
Empire  also. 

We  were  not  without  alarms,  as  The  Mackintosh 
knew  to  his  cost.  On  one  occasion  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning,  he  had  wandered  up  to  the 
front  line  to  inquire  into  a  certain  matter  of 
shortages.     This  was  after  we  had  held  our  own 


100       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

particular  bit  for  three  days.  The  matter  settled, 
he  was  standing  in  the  trench  talking  to  Lieutenant 
AUonby.  The  night  was  dark  and  without  a 
breeze,  but  for  once  the  Canadians  had  the  wind 
up.  Gusts  of  rifle-fire  on  either  side  of  us  broke 
the  stillness  of  the  night;  the  company  to  our  left 
suddenly  opened  up  a  rapid  independent  fire,  and 
a  sentry  on  the  firing-step  beside  the  Quartermaster 
suddenly  discharged  his  rifle  over  the  parapet 
shouting:  ''  Here  they  come,  the  sons  of  Bosches  !" 

Down  the  line  went  the  order,  ''  No.  12  Platoon, 
stand  to  !"  The  firing-step  was  lined  with  dark 
crouching  figures  peering  into  the  darkness.  Off 
came  the  covers  of  the  machine-guns.  Not  a  shot 
was  fired.  In  the  darkness  of  the  trench  the 
Quartermaster  waited,  wondering  for  hour-long 
seconds,  when  the  first  German  would  jump  over 
the  parapet,  and  find  the  third  button  of  his  tunic 
with  the  point  of  a  bayonet. 

Lieutenant  Allonby,  standing  beside  the  now 
uncertain  sentry,  inquired  what  he  had  seen.  A 
moment  before  he  had  been  positive  of  seeing  black 
figures  wandering  along  that  line  of  willows.  Now 
he  began  to  be  uncertain.  Everything  was  silent. 
Up  went  a  German  star-shell;  the  row  of  willows 
stood  out  brightly  in  relief. 

''  What  the  Hades  are  you  doing,  old-timer  !*' 
said  Lieutenant  Hooly,  strolling  into  the  trench 
from  the  right.  ''  Practising  your  bunch  at  squad 
drill  r' 


TH:^'  QL'PBY  :  OP;  \r^K '.  :  :  /.  101 

"  No,  you  Siwasli !  Merely  a  reed  shaking  in  the 
wilderness.     No.  12,  stand  down  !"  said  Allonby. 

''  Man  Jeff,  my  heart  was  fairly  in  my  mouth. 
I  wish  you'd  not  do  these  fancy  tricks  when  I  come 
to  call  on  you,"  said  the  Quartermaster. 

A  voice  floated  through  the  darkness  from  the 
left,  inquiring,  ''  How  do  you  like  standing  to, 
No.  12  ?"  Another  reedy  whisper  came  from  the 
right,  ''  Have  another  drop  of  rum,  old  dear,  to 
clear  your  eyesight !" 

Then  there  were  the  spies.  The  Engineers  were 
always  seeing  them — yes,  and  other  people  too.  But 
the  Engineers  enjoyed  almost  a  monopoly  in  this 
particular  line.  Wonderfully  authentic  histories 
they  brought  in  of  working-parties  sniped  at  from 
a  short  distance,  of  dark  figures  creeping  away  in 
the  darkness,  of  caches  of  bully-beef  found  in  de- 
serted farm-houses,  and  of  discarded  civilian  clothes. 
They  were  always  being  fired  at  point-blank  range, 
but  somehow  the  mysterious  assailant  always  man- 
aged to  steal  away  in  the  darkness.  At  their 
request  we  detailed  search-parties,  who  wandered 
about  through  the  mud  strafing  the  sappers,  and 
entirely  bored  by  their  optic  hallucinations,  on 
which  they  based  the  very  slightest  belief. 

The  activities  of  this  system  of  espionage  was 
not  confined  to  night.  Tales  were  brought  to  us 
of  peasant  farmers  who  placidly  ploughed  the  soil 
with  a  Mauser  rifle  shoved  down  the  leg  of  their 
trousers.     When  the  end  of  the  furrow  was  reached 


102       MAPLE ,J.EAVE3  JN. FLANDERS  FIELDS 

»•,►«*  r     •     e    •    f ,  f  ,<.,.<. 

,    '     (   t     t        «t      •        ' 

it  was  the  practice  of  the  ploughman  to  extract 
his  weapon  from  his  trousers,  and  shoot  the  nearest 
Thomas  Atkins  in  the  back  ! 

Then  there  were  windmills  that  semaphored 
signals  across  to  the  enemy's  lines;  carrier  pigeons 
winging  their  way  with  messages;  and  dogs  with 
despatches  tied  to  their  necks. 

Honest  John  Wallace,  formerly  of  the  York 
City  PoHce,  Massachusetts,  U.S.A.,  our  little 
Sherlock  Holmes,  was  of  a  particularly  suspicious 
nature.  Everyone  was  a  spy  until  found  to  be 
otherwise.  One  night,  wandering  in  the  vicinity 
of  Plumbois,  he  noticed  a  light  shining  in  a  window 
facing  the  enemy  lines,  a  light  that  seemed  to 
signal.  At  once  his  interest  was  aroused,  and, 
like  the  wise  men  of  old  on  seeing  the  star  of 
Bethlehem,  he  headed  in  that  direction.  Through 
ditches,  barbed  wire,  hedges,  and  over  ploughed 
fields,  he  stubbornly  plodded  onward.  The  light 
flashed  and  flickered;  dots  and  dashes  blazed 
through  John's  heated  imagination.  ''  A  spy  at 
last !  and  signalhng  too  !"  Muddied,  plastered, 
torn,  and  wearied,  Honest  John  arrived  at  the 
house.  Cautiously  and  on  tiptoe  he  approached 
the  ground-floor  windows,  from  whence  the  ac- 
cusing light  beamed,  and  peered  discreetly  inside. 
There  a  man  was  seated,  a  man  of  his  own  com- 
pany, quite  above  suspicion  and  rejoicing  in  the 
name  of  William  Wallace.  By  a  candle  he  was 
darning  a  large  hole  in  the  seat  of  his  trousers, 


THE  GLORY  or  ^,\^;R  103 

and  his  arm,  rising  and  falling  in  front  of  the  light 
in  awkward  manipiiiation  of  his  needle,  formed 
the  dots  and  dashes  that  Honest  John  had  diagnosed 
as  signals. 

We  returned  from  our  first  five  days  in  the 
trenches,  on  the  whole  quite  pleased  with  our- 
selves. We  had  not  been  shot  at  more  than  was 
really  necessary,  and  we  had  not  suffered  much 
from  ''  wind."  We  returned  to  rest  in  billets  in 
Plumbois.  Eeserve  billets  meant  rest  and  baths. 
The  former  welcome,  the  latter  a  species  of  divine 
interference. 

*'  We  took  our  bath  and  we  wallowed, 
For,  Lord  !   we  needed  it  so." 

A  hot  bath  in  a  vat  in  a  brewery,  with  oceans 
of  hot  water  and  clean  clothes  at  the  finish.  We 
blessed  the  medical  authorities  and  felt  like  new 
men. 

The  men  were  billeted  in  barns.  They  were 
becoming  quite  used  to  barns — in  fact,  they  were 
almost  specialists  on  the  subject.  There  were  big 
barns  and  small  barns;  barns  that  were  smelly 
and  others  merely  musty ;  barns  with  roofs,  and 
barns  when  the  only  covering  was  the  stars ;  barns 
with  live-stock  and  barns  without,  but  barns  all 
the  time. 

The  officers  were  for  the  most  part  quartered  in 
farm-houses,  and  these  varied  as  did  the  barns. 
The  barns  and  houses  formed  a  courtyard,  in  the 


104       MAPLE  iL:EAySS  m  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

centre  of  which  was  the  slimy,  wobbHng  manure- 
heap,  where  monstrous  pigs  wallowed,  ducks 
waddled,  and  hens  scratched  anxiously.  It  was 
always  the  same :  the  wealth  of  Flanders  lay  in  our 
midst,  evil-looking  and  vile-smelling,  hoarded 
penuriously,  to  be  later  on  taken  out  and  decanted 
on  the  fields.  At  first  we  were  horrified,  but  later 
on  we  became  indifferent.  However,  the  text- 
books say  an  open  smell  is  a  healthy  smell,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  about  its  being  open.  It 
flaunted  itself  in  our  faces,  blew  into  our  nostrils, 
and  at  night,  though  unseen,  it  was  still  eternal. 
It  had  one  good  effect,  I  think:  everyone  learnt  to 
boil  tlieir  water. 

The  headquarters  of  the  Pompadours  was  in  the 
village;  here  they  lived  in  royal  luxury  with  a 
dropsical  heroine,  who,  faithful  to  her  Lares  and 
Penates,  refused  to  be  influenced  by  hostile  shell- 
fire.  Funnily  enough,  the  house  was  never  hit. 
The  ex-Massachusetts  detective  at  once  was  on 
the  lady's  trail.  The  inference  was  obvious:  the 
lady  was  a  spy,  and  the  Huns  were  sparing  her 
house  for  th^  -  reason  !  Furthermore,  whenever 
the  shelling  commenced  she  retired  at  once  to  the 
cellar.  Manifestly  there  must  be  a  telephone 
there,  and  she  was  signalHng  outers  and  bull's-eyes 
to  the  Bosche.  Honest  John  bided  his  time,  and 
the  next  shelling  found  him  thundering  on  the  cellar 
door.  Here,  after  a  delay,  he  was  admitted. 
Brushing   the   lady   high-handedly   aside,   he   de- 


THE  GLOEY  OF  WAR  105 

scended  to  the  depths,  from  whence  ascended  the 
light  of  a  lamp.  Here  were  rows  and  rows  oi' 
bottles,  several  ponderous  casks,  but  no  telephone, 
only  the  Doctor  ! 

"  Hullo,   Johnnie  !   gone  to  ground  ?     Have   a 
glass  of  sherry  wine  and  a  'am  sandwich." 

*'  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here,  Doc.  ?" 

''  Nothing,  darling,  only  comforting  Madam,  and 
trying  some  of  the  vintages." 

Such  warfare  cannot  last  for  ever,  and  the 
Brigadier  ordered  us  to  go  route-marching.  Behold 
a  company  of  the  Pompadours,  now  war-worn 
veterans,  swinging  their  rumps  through  the  village 
of  Messena.  On  the  outskirts  was  halted  an 
Imperial  Territorial  regiment,  newly  arrived  in  the 
country.  Chucking  a  mighty  chest,  the  Pompa- 
dours sniffed.  Captain  Wales  halted  his  command ; 
they  fell  out,  and  oh,  the  lies  they  told  !  Shot  and 
shell  raining  on  the  front-line  trench,  bombs 
dropping  from  above,  mines  bursting  beneath  their 
feet.  Ail  recounted  with  a  half -contemptuous 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  an  air  of  self-satisfied 
indifference.  I  don't  know  how  many  months 
they  said  they  had  stood  in  the  water-logged 
trenches,  or  how  many  attacks  they  had  repelled 
at  the  point  of  the  bayonet,  or  what  their  casualties 
had  been,  but  they  pulled  the  Territorial  leg  y^ 
from  Halifax  to  Nanaimo  and  then  from  D^^"^ 
to  Beersheba.  And  those  new  troops  stood 
round  in  silent,   awestruck  reverence,   for  surely 


106        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

these  must  be  heroes !     The  Pompadours  left  them 
on  the  roadside,  silent,  stricken  dumb. 

''  Say,  old-timer,  you  don't  half  peddle  the  Bull 
when  you  get  started,"  remarked  Private  Waters 
as  they  humped  it  down  the  road. 

The  Brigadier  was  not  yet  satisfied,  for  he 
believed  in  efficiency,  so  we  had  to  stand  to  at 
night.  Quietly  the  order  was  given,  and  stealthily 
the  men  fell  into  their  places.  Limbers  were 
loaded  and  water-carts  harnessed  up.  No  talking, 
for  a  wonder ;  no  one  dropped  a  rifle  on  the  ground ; 
the  orders,  softly  spoken,  were  as  quietly  obeyed, 
and  secretly  and  silently  the  companies  filed  off 
like  ghosts  in  the  night  to  their  various  positions. 
We,  who  had  watched  with  interest  the  gradual 
evolution  of  the  last  few  months,  were  filled  with 
astonishment.  Was  it  possible  that  these  quiet, 
self-contained  shadows,  moving  so  cautiously  in 
the  dark,  were  the  same  garrulous,  cigarette- 
smoking  militiamen  who  had  assembled  a  few 
months  previously  on  Valcartier's  plain  ? 

And  so  our  rest  in  billets  came  to  an  end.  The 
next  night  we  relieved  the  Saskatoons.  We  were 
getting  down  to  it  in  great  style;  the  Government 
equipment  had  been  supplemented  in  various 
ways.  Here  a  circular  loaf  impaled  on  the  point 
of  a  bayonet;  there  two  bottles  of  wine  balanced 
one  another  round  a  willing  neck;  bundles  of  fire- 
wood and  bags  of  coal,  bedroom  slippers,  even  a 
bed-quilt,  made  their  way  into  the  trenches,  and 


THE  GLOEY  OF  WAR  107 

all    sorts    of    cooking    utensils,    concertinas,    and 
mouth-organs. 

"  For  Maryland  is  Fairyland, 
And  he's  promised  my  wife  to  see 
When  the  lads  from  the  West  of  Canada 
And  our  home  is  across  the  sea." 

We  returned  to  our  convent  wall.  The  head- 
quarters burrowed  in  their  dugout,  and  the  Doctor 
resumed  his  quarters  in  the  funereal  hearse,  which 
stood  stuck  in  the  mud  hard  by. 

"  And  a  very  appropriate  residence  too,  for  our 
'  Pills,'  "  commented  the  Adjutant,  who,  being  born 
south  of  the  border,  was  always  making  jokes 
which  the  Doctor  couldn't  see.  When  this  type 
of  cheap  witticism  got  beyond  all  bearing,  the 
Medical  Officer  would  seek  out  the  Quartermaster, 
and  together  they  would  strafe  the  English,  talking 
of  Sassenachs  and  hinting  at  dark  deeds,  and  the 
Quartermaster  would  think  regretfully  of  his 
Skein-dhu  and  the  Medical  Officer  would  rattle  his 
pill-box  threateningly  in  its  scabbard. 

The  companies  returned  to  their  trenches,  which 
they  always  said  the  Saskatoons  left  in  a  horrible 
condition !  Of  course,  no  work  had  ever  been 
done,  but  then  no  one  ever  works  but  ourselves. 
The  bath-mats  had  been  broken  up  and  used  for 
firewood,  and  all  the  pumps  were  out  of  busi- 
ness. And  those  sons  of  farmers  had  tried  to 
drain  water  uphill,  and  left  food  and  ammunition 
lying  about  all  over  the  trenches.     It  was  ever 


108       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEES  FIELDS 

the  same  :  the  outgoing  battalion  was  always 
guilty  of  every  crime  of  omission  and  commission 
mentioned  in  the  decalogue.  Well,  I  expect  the 
Saskatoons  were  no  worse  than  anyone  else,  but 
it  was  ever  so. 

So  the  routine  of  trench  warfare  recommenced, 
and  the  front-line  trench  is  the  best  place  to  be  in 
in  this  war.  For  there  everyone  forgets  to  trouble 
about  the  war.  Everyone  in  the  front  line  is 
cheerful,  and  here  one  laughs  the  whole  day  and 
most  of  the  night  too.  The  farther  back  you  go 
to  supports,  rest  billets,  the  base,  and  finally  to 
Blighty,  the  more  dismal  you  become.  Cheer- 
fulness appears  to  increase  in  the  inverse  ratio  to 
safety,  and  it  is  the  same  with  grumbling.  I  have 
heard  an  A.S.C.  sergeant,  who  was  unable  to  obtain 
his  morning  bath,  make  more  noise  about  it  than 
a  Major  of  the  line  who  had  been  sleeping  in  wet 
mud  for  five  days. 

Don't  let  it  be  thought  for  a  moment  that  I 
would  belittle  the  Army  Service  Corps.  That 
would  indeed  be  biting  the  hand  that  feeds  us,  and 
that  fed  us  exceedingly  well  for  many  months. 
Now,  and  always,  I  salute  them  ! 

Yes,  there  in  the  front  line  we  were  cheerful. 
But  there  are  the  wee  sma'  hours  just  abune  the 
twal,  when  the  vital  tides  are  at  their  teeniest, 
weeniest  ebb.  Then  the  sentries,  staring  across  the 
dripping  wire,  waiting  for  the  dismal  dawn,  as  the 
chill  creeps  into  their  bones,  are  apt  to  let  their 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  109 

thoughts  wander.  Then  the  imagination  gets  to 
work  and  conjures  up  happy  images  of  comfortable 
beds,  eiderdowns,  and  hot-water  bottles.  Yes, 
and  more  than  hot-water  bottles,  too  !  Then  you 
wonder  which  is  the  bigger,  the  hollow  in  your 
stomach  or  the  ache  in  your  heart.  Then  it  is 
that  our  all-seeing  Government  steps  in  and,  as 
a  corrective,  the  rum  arrives. 

The  morning  was  cold — cold  with  the  dampness 
of  clinging  vapour.  Major  Berkeley  and  Captain 
Wallace,  lingering  in  the  dismal  chillness,  noted 
the  growing  dawn  and  the  gloomy  frigidity  of  the 
surroundings.  The  sentries  on  the  firing-step, 
gazing  through  the  misty  drizzle  at  the  sodden 
wire,  were  silent ;  occasionally  one  stamped  his  feet 
or  buried  his  chin  more  deeply  in  his  upturned 
collar.  The  world  seemed  sad,  slushy,  and  sunk 
in  a  sea  of  mud  and  despondency. 

A  man  passed  carrying  a  pannikin,  then  another. 
In  the  grey  east  a  haggard  dawn  was  struggling 
with  the  desolate  darkness;  then,  somewhere  along 
the  trench  someone  started  to  whistle;  the  lilt  of 
a  song  rose  in  the  gloom.  Down  the  trench  three 
figures,  grouped  round  an  object  on  the  ground, 
were  laughing.  It  was  a  rum- jar,  the  concrete 
means  of  bringing  new  comfort  to  sixty-four 
wilhng  souls.  ''  Have  some  rum,  Wallace,"  said 
the  Major.  ''  Good  wine  gladdeneth  the  heart;  it 
goes  just  right  at  this  time  in  the  morning."  As 
the  two  officers  retired  into  their  dugout,  the  day, 


no       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

already  brightening,  was  glowing  in  the  east,  and 
the  whole  trench  was  singing. 

And  yet  there  are  those  who  would  do  away 
with  the  rum  ration  !  All  those  blundering,  mis- 
informed busybodies,  who  would  preach  total 
abstinence  on  the  parapet  at  4  a.m.  have  no  idea 
what  it  is  like  in  a  British  trench  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  morning  !  I  can  only  assure  them 
they  would  be  better  in  the  firing-line  than  trying 
to  rob  the  soldier  of  his  rum.  There  are  no  tee- 
totallers in  the  trench  at  dawn  when  the  rum 
comes  round. 

Ever  since  we  had  arrived  in  France,  the  stimu- 
lating effect  of  our  surroundings  had  caused  the 
outgoing  mail  to  increase  enormously  in  extent. 
Men  who  formerly  had  rarely  set  pen  to  paper 
now  slung  ink,  and  revelled  in  indelible  pencils, 
with  a  zeal  worthy  of  a  better  cause.  On  our  first 
arrival  at  Maurice,  the  Colonel  decreed  that  the 
headquarters  should  superintend  and  overlook  the 
efforts  of  the  company  officers.  Behold,  therefore, 
a  select  group  consisting  of  the  man  of  God,  Pills, 
Pay,  and  the  Quartermaster,  and  the  second  in 
command  seated  round  a  cleared  mess-table,  in 
the  centre  of  which  reposes  a  heterogeneous  pile  of 
correspondence. 

In  a  lunatic  asylum,  I  understand,  it  is  the 
custom  for  the  doctors  to  read  the  letters  written  by 
the  patients,  in  order  to  obtain  an  insight  into  the 
whirlwind  of  their  inner  consciousness.     Certainly 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  111 

in  a  battalion  the  characteristics  of  the  rank  and 
file  stand  out  more  clearly  in  profile  through  the 
medium  of  their  letters.  Men  of  whom  one  would 
have  least  beheved  it  were  found  to  possess  hterary 
abilities  of  a  high  order,  while  the  most  unpro- 
mising exterior  at  times  concealed  a  power  and 
elegance  of  descriptive  eloquence  !  We  unearthed 
by  this  means  poets,  philosophers,  and  thinkers. 
Of  course,  there  was  the  other  side  of  the  picture, 
and  some,  of  whom  great  things  might  have  been 
expected,  were  found  to  be  scarcely  able  to  hold 
a  pen ! 

There  was  the  simple-minded  enthusiast  who 
wrote  of  the  fine  time  he  was  having,  how  he  was 
fit,  and  hoped  everyone  at  home  was  well.  He 
was  a  man  to  look  up  to;  he  never  allowed  that 
there  was  any  possibihty  of  danger;  unselfish  and 
solicitous  for  others'  hopes  and  fears,  he  would 
wait  until  the  war  was  over  to  tell  his  story. 

Then  there  was  the  morbid  liar,  endeavouring 
to  create  an  impression  by  manufacturing  possi- 
bilities which  did  not  exist. 

''  Dear  Gwen,"  he  wrote  (the  Paymaster  thought 
it  ought  to  be  ''  Poor  Gwen  "),—''  While  I  write  to 
you  the  shells  are  screaming  overhead  and  bursting 
all  round  us.  Sid  Allen  has  just  got  his.  He 
screarT:^d  something  terrible  when  the  shell  hit  him. 
They  say  he  will  die.  I  just  smile  at  the  shells 
when  they  land  near  me.  I  can  hardly  see  to 
write,  as  the  sky  is  dark  with  the  bullets  flying 


112        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 
overhead.     The   noise   is    maddening.     I    do    not 


to' 


expect  to  be  alive  when  I  next  write." 

''  I  hope  to  Heaven  he  won't  be  !"  remarked 
the  Paymaster  as  he  laid  down  the  letter.  ''  I 
wonder  how  Allonby  let  that  rubbish  through. 
I  shall  advise  him  to  '  run  '  that  person  for  conduct 
subversive  of  good  order  and  discipline,  and  being 
a  damned  liar  into  the  bargain." 

''  How  would  '  conduct  prejudicial  to  the  good 
morals  of  Gwen  '  do  ?"  suggested  the  Adjutant. 

And  this,  mark  you,  when  we  were  still  at 
Maurice,  fifteen  miles  from  the  firing-line,  where 
we  had  to  go  outside  the  house  in  order  to  hear  the 
guns  booming  in  the  distance  !  Sid  Allen,  by  the 
way,  was  suffering  from  a  kick  from  a  mule — that 
was  the  only  shell  that  hit  him. 

Then  there  was  also  the  critical  scribe,  whose 
letters  evinced  an  entire  disapproval  of  the 
general  conduct  of  the  war,  a  slavish  admiration 
of  the  Germans,  and  conveyed  the  information 
that  he,  at  least,  would  and  could  run  the  show, 
with  enormous  advantage  to  the  Empire  as  a 
whole.  He  was  in  many  ways  a  more  pestilential 
form  of  nuisance  than  the  other. 

They  generally  chose  mothers  or  elderly  aunts 
to  confide  their  views  to,  and  I  tremble  to  think 
to  what  depths  of  doubt  and  uncertainty  their 
female  relatives  must  have  been  reduced,  by  the 
communication  of  these  ill-timed  expressions  of 
opinion. 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  113 

''  Dear  Aunt  Kate, — I  have  not  heard  from 
you  for  three  days,  but  that  is  not  surprising,  as 
the  postal  arrangements  are  so  terribly  mishandled. 
There  is  only  one  delivery  of  letters  a  day,  and 
that  is  at  night.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  mis- 
management ?  I  feel  certain  that  the  Germans 
have  three  or  four  deliveries  a  day. 

''  My  company  officer,  a  very  stupid  man " 
("  That's  rather  hard  on  Wallace,  isn't  it  ?"  mused 
the  Doctor),  ''  is  always  sending  my  letters  back, 
as  he  says  they  would  shock  and  sadden  the  Censor. 
I  would  use  a  green  envelope  if  I  had  one,  but 
unfortunately  I  have  not. 

''  We  have  almost  no  artillery,  and  what  there 
is,  is  constantly  being  hit  by  the  Germans,  who 
are  much  superior  to  us.  Our  artillery  is  constantly 
killing  our  own  men,  who  are  always  terrified 
when  our  guns  open  fire. 

''  Our  staff  is  quite  incapable.  There  are  spies 
all  over  the  country.  The  Engineer  officers  are 
always  seeing  them  and  being  sniped  at.  Belgian 
farmers  wander  about  at  night  behind  our  lines, 
pretending  to  light  their  pipes  and  signalHng  to 
the  Germans  by  this  means.  Spies  also  signal  by 
means  of  mndmills,  this  especially  on  windy  days. 

''  Carrier-pigeons  constantly  fly  over  our  lines. 
My  Captain,  who  is  very  ignorant,  says  they  are 
wood-pigeons.  There  is  no  doubt  they  are  used 
for  carrying  messages. 

''  We  have  quite  lost  the  command  of  the  air. 

8 


114       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

I  don't  think  we  ever  had  it.  Our  aeroplanes  are 
constantly  getting  lost,  and  fly  all  over  the  German 
lines  and  get  fired  at  by  their  air-guns.  The 
splinters  of  shell  fall  upon  our  men  below,  and  by 
this  means  thousands  have  been  killed.  The 
German  air  service  is  much  better  arranged.  Their 
aeroplanes  never  come  over  our  lines  at  all,  thereby 
showing  how  much  better  their  maps  are  than 
ours.  If  our  guns  fire  at  them  they  at  once  come 
to  the  ground,  so  that  none  of  their  infantry  get 
hit  by  the  shell  fragments.  By  this  means  alone 
the  Germans  save  the  lives  of  thousands  of  their 
soldiers  !" 

And  so  on  indefinitely,  until  the  Doctor,  who  was 
reading  the  document,  gnashed  his  teeth  and 
foamed  at  the  mouth. 

The  cheerful  optimist  was  better  reading. 

"  Dear  Mother  "  (he  scribbled,  on  a  tattered 
rag  of  newspaper  wrapper), — ''  This  war  is  sure  a 
son  of  a  pig,  but  believe  me  I  shall  stick  to  it  closer 
than  mud  to  a  blanket. 

"  Yours  lovingly, 

"  Ed." 

We  plumbed  all  manner  of  hidden  depths  in  the 
reading  of  these  letters,  and  by  so  doing  obtained 
an  understanding  of  our  friends  in  the  rank  and 
file,  which  otherwise  might  have  been  denied  us. 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  115 

Truly  the  methods  of  the  asylum  doctors  have 
something  to  recommend  them. 

It  was  the  17th  of  Ireland,  and  as  such  honoured 
by  all  good  Hibernians.  Major  Meldrum,  as 
befitting  one  of  the  ancient  order,  was  early  in  the 
front-line  trench,  and  soon,  as  a  result  of  his 
labours,  most  of  the  battalion  were  wearing  o'  the 
green.  In  his  wake,  following  down  the  front  line 
at  an  interval  of  half  a  dozen  bays,  came  the 
Doctor.  Presently,  spotting  a  determined-looking 
individual,  he  inquired  why  he  was  not  adorned 
with  a  verdant  sprig  of  shamrock. 

"  I'm  from  Glengarry,"  came  the  curt  rejoinder. 

*'  Good  for  you,  old  sport,"  returned  the  Doctor. 
"  Have  some  Scotch." 

"  You  bet !     Here's  to  Saint  Andrew." 

The  Major  might  be  armed  with  a  bale  of  sham- 
rock, but  the  Medical  Officer  was  thrice  armed  as, 
with  three  bottles  of  Johnny  Walker,  he  delicately 
picked  his  way  down  the  trench.  Here  and  there 
he  noted  a  Scotsman — some  from  Nova  Scotia, 
some  from  Glengarry,  and  some  from  north  of  the 
Tweed.  Funmly  enough,  they  seemed  to  increase 
in  number  as  he  progressed  farther,  until  finally  he 
reached  ''  B  "  Company  on  the  return  right. 
Here  they  were  apparently  all  Scottish  ! 

*'  Well,  sorr,  here's  good  luck  to  ould  Scotland, 
and  three  cheers  for  Saint  Andrew  !"  This  from  a 
brawny  warrior  in  the  act  of  drinking.  Taking 
off  his  cap,  he  waved  it  round  his  head,  and  a  large 


116       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

bit  of  shamrock  fell  to  the  ground.  A  bullet  spat 
over  the  parapet  and  reminded  us  that  our  dear 
friends  opposite  had  other  things  to  do  than 
discuss  the  various  merits  of  patron  saints. 

''  Here,  I  thought  you  said  you  were  a  Scots- 
man," said  the  Medical  Officer  doubtfully. 

"  So  I  am,  sorr;  one  of  the  best  when  there's 
any  whisky  around  !  But  for  the  most  part  I  was 
born  in  the  County  av  Cork,  and  me  name's 
O'Flanaghan." 

About  this  time  we  received  orders  that  we  were 
to  be  ready  to  support  an  attack  which  was  taking 
place  on  our  right.  If  everything  there  was  suc- 
cessful, we  were  to  do  something  ourselves.  The 
events  of  the  battle  have  now  become  matters  of 
history.  Our  own  share  was  practically  nil,  but 
such  as  it  was  we  did  nothing  to  discredit  ourselves. 
We  suffered  a  few  casualties,  and  one  that  we 
could  ill  afiord. 

Major  Rawlins,  at  once  one  of  our  best  and  most 
popular  officers,  was  unfortunately  shot  while 
sniping  at  a  German  loophole.  Perhaps  he  had 
not  taken  sufficient  precautions  to  protect  himself; 
perchance  he  deemed  the  Hun  a  poorer  marksman 
than  he  really  was.  With  a  row  of  ribbons  stretch- 
ing across  his  breast  he  had  fought  all  round  the 
Empire;  a  fearless,  gallant  soldier,  we  laid  him  to 
rest  behind  our  convent  wall,  and  felt  the  world 
was  the  poorer  by  his  going. 
He  had  a  peculiar  method  of  strafing  the  Hun. 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR  117 

Armed  with  a  speaking-trumpet,  he  would  hurl 
defiances  across  at  the  distant  trenches,  mocking 
our  enemies  and  rousing  them  to  retaliate.  The 
result  would  be  a  splutter  of  rifie-fire,  bullets 
singing  over  the  parapet  or  burying  themselves  in 
the  sandbags.  By  this  means  the  enemy  were 
located  and  a  Hkely  sniper  spotted,  ready  for  the 
Major's  answer.  Nobody  enjoyed  trench  warfare 
more  than  the  Major,  yet  he  was  always  itching 
to  get  closer  to  the  enemy. 

Our  funerals  behind  the  convent  wall  took  place 
always  after  dark.  As  we  had  no  communication 
trenches,  it  was  not  possible  to  get  a  stretcher  out 
during  the  dayHght.  In  the  dark  we  gathered 
beside  the  open  grave,  the  Colonel  and  such  officers 
and  men  who  could  be  spared  from  duty.  The 
Padre,  reading  the  beautiful  lines  by  the  aid 
of  an  electric  torch,  conducted  the  service.  Thus 
we  bade  farewell  to  those  who  had  been  our 
friends . 

While  we  were  at  Plumbois  we  got  the  casualty 
return  of  our  engagement  fought  by  the  Imperial 
troops  on  the  Western  front.  The  Colonel  made 
the  announcement  at  mess,  after  the  waiters  had 
withdrawn.  He  pointed  out  that  our  losses  had 
been  extremely  heavy,  and  that  he  didn't  want 
them  to  be  too  widely  discussed.  He  quoted  seven 
thousand  as  the  sum  total.  I  still  remember  with 
what  concern  we  received  the  news.  Seven  thou- 
sand appeared  a  tremendous  figure  in  those  days. 


118       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

Yet  in  view  of  recent  losses,  what  a  drop  in  the 
ocean  ! 

The  men  in  the  front  Hne  didn't  have  all  the  fun, 
however,  and  occasionally  the  support  company 
had  their  own  little  excitements.  Captains  Cope 
and  Hardwick  were  seated  at  tea  discussing  a  new 
parcel  from  Fortnum  and  Mason  which  Lieutenant 
Bromfield  had  just  fallen  heir  to,  through  the 
kindness  of  a  devoted  relative.  A  bullet  flicked 
through  the  open  window,  parting  Bromfield 's  hair 
and  administering  a  slight  scalp  wound,  and  buried 
itself  in  the  wall  of  the  room.  A  few  days  later 
they  were  shelled  out  of  their  farm,  and  had  to 
take  refuge  behind  some  haystacks.  A  haystack 
always  seemed  pretty  good  to  me:  it  was  a  nice 
soft  protection  from  high-calibre  shells.  Even  a 
direct  hit  was  likely  to  cause  very  little  trouble, 
and  if  the  gentle  Hun  set  it  on  fire  you  could 
always  take  cover  in  the  smoke-cloud. 

The  last  scene  I  remember  along  our  convent 
wall,  for  so  it  will  always  be  called  by  the  Pompa- 
dours, was  the  Doctor  in  heated  controversy  with 
two  of  our  Engineer  officers.  For  two  days  he 
had,  at  the  earnest  request  of  the  Colonel,  been 
endeavouring  to  drain  a  patch  of  land,  the  centre 
of  which  was  occupied  by  a  pool  of  water,  in 
which  the  bodies  of  five  dead  horses  lay.  For  two 
days  the  stretcher-bearers  sweated  over  pumps, 
part  of  a  gigantic  drainage  scheme.  When  I  saw 
him,  the  Engineers  had  just  pointed  out  that  the 


THE  GLORY  OF  WAR 

water,  which  he  fondly  imagined  was  draining  away 
in  a  deep  ditch,  was  simply  running  round  the 
field  and  coming  back  from  where  it  started  !  As 
nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  so  the  thought  of  a 
vicious  circle  is  poison  to  the  medical  mind,  and 
the  Medical  Officer  was  deeply  annoyed  that  the 
Engineers  were  the  ones  to  show  him  his  mistake. 
''  What  do  you  people  think  you  know  about 
drainage  ?  You  don't  know  everything,  although 
you  think  you  do.  This  is  public  health,  not 
public  works." 


CHAPTEE  VII 

FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS 

All  good  things  come  to  an  end,  and  already 
Plumbois,  the  convent  wall,  and  our  rest  billet 
with  the  dropsical  heroine,  were  mere  memories. 
We  were  at  Misere,  in  luxurious  billets,  being  care- 
fully rested  and  fattened  up  for  the  killing.  Here 
we  practised  the  attack,  charging  across  ploughed 
fields,  which  took  us  up  to  the  knees  in  the  soft 
mud  of  Flanders.  Excellent  exercise,  but  some- 
what trying  to  the  wind,  where  for  a  month  the 
regiment  has  held  its  morning  parades  on  the  firing- 
step  of  a  trench.  So  to  improve  our  wind  we  went 
for  route  marches — ^route  marches  along  country 
lanes  with  nature  awakening  to  the  touch  of  spring. 
The  hedgerows  were  breaking  into  bud,  and  the 
woods  were  bright  with  primroses  and  violets. 
The  air  was  balmy  and  the  days  bright,  as  the  winds 
and  storms  of  March  yielded  to  the  sunshine  and  soft 
April  showers. 

The  Mackintosh  and  the  Medical  Officer  went 
about  with  an  air  of  grave  detachment,  for  quartered 
in  Misere  was  a  Highland  host.  Here  were  Perth- 
shire  Highlanders,   the   Ross-shire   Rangers,    the 

120 


FLOUNDEEING  IN  FLANDERS  121 

Highland  Borderers,  the  Eenfrew  Light  Infantry, 
all  engaged  in  the  same  occupation  as  ourselves. 
In  the  evenings  our  two  Scotsmen  retired  to  the 
local  pub,  where  they  spent  the  evening  discussing 
pipe  music.  Home  Eule  for  Scotland,  haggis  and 
Highland  cream. 

The  Padre  was  happy.  No  doubt  the  spring 
entered  into  his  blood  and  inspired  him.  Daily  he 
came  to  us  with  a  fresh  ebullition  of  the  Muse. 
These  he  read,  regardless  of  his  audience,  to  all 
and  sundry — to  the  Colonel  at  orderly-room,  to 
the  Quartermaster's  staff.  One  day,  for  want  of 
better,  he  was  found  reciting  his  latest  gem  to 
an  audience  of  one,  an  old  Flemish  lady  who  was 
deaf  and  dumb,  and  who  had  no  knowledge  of 
English  1 

We  got  to  know  our  allies — the  French  in- 
habitants with  whom  we  were  billeted,  wonderful 
people  of  that  brave  nation,  confident  in  their 
belief  in  victory.  Here  were  the  patient  women 
whose  husbands  were  away  at  the  war,  and  the 
young  girls  who  shook  their  heads  and  replied 
''  Apres  la  guerre "  and  ''  Non  compris."  It 
was  a  fine  old  city,  with  high  gabled  houses  and 
a  town  hall  built  by  the  Spaniards,  with  broad 
streets  and  trees  on  either  side.  Here  the  Germans 
dropped  bombs,  but  never  hurt  anyone,  and  the 
inhabitants,  unflurried,  carried  on  their  business. 
And  here  we  spent  a  week,  a  week  of  peace  and 
quiet,  but  of  much  hard  work,  until  the   Pom- 


122       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

padours  who  had  been  good  before  became 
still  better,  until  it  would  have  been  hard  to 
find  a  better  regiment  on  the  whole  continent  of 
Europe. 

Who  ought  to  have  known  better?  for  we  belonged 
to  them;  so  who  has  a  better  right  to  judge  ? 

From  Miser e  the  Brigade  marched  north.  We 
were  gradually  learning.  This  march  was  as 
much  a  delight  as  that  from  Maurice  to  the  Bois 
de  Perdrix  had  been  a  pain.  We  did  the  eighteen 
miles  without  a  hitch;  the  men  marched  well  and 
everything  went  swimmingly.  A  few  fell  out,  but 
they  were  mostly  old  ''  sweats,"  and  old  soldiers, 
whose  medal  ribbons  bore  witness  to  the  previous 
campaigns  in  which  they  had  served. 

Our  regimental  rule  insisted  that,  before  falling 
out  on  the  march,  the  men  had  to  get  permission 
from  the  Medical  Ofiicer,  who,  if  he  thought  fit, 
might  direct  that  they  be  allowed  to  ride  on 
waggons.  Our  Doctor  had  rather  a  sharp  way 
with  these,  and  he  evidently  had  small  belief  in 
the  graphic  account  of  their  ailments  and  dis- 
abilities. Nevertheless,  on  occasions  a  man  would 
be  allowed  to  ride  on  a  waggon,  where  he  would 
sit  watching  for  the  Medical  Officer.  In  the  event 
of  that  worthy  hovering  in  the  vicinity,  the  sufferer 
on  the  limber  would  at  once  assume  an  expression 
of  the  most  intense  agony  until  the  Doctor  had 
departed,  when  he  would  permit  his  features  to 
relax,  and  even  indulge  in  a  wink  at  those  less 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  123 

fortunate  or  with  better  spirit  than  himself  who 
trudged  alongside. 

Private  Bloodstock  had  brought  this  accompHsh- 
ment  of  simulating  sickness,  to  its  highest  form  of 
perfection.  Long,  lean,  and  cadaverous,  with  the 
watery  eye  and  the  rubicund  nose  of  the  habitual 
booze  artist,  he  had  run  through  the  whole  price- 
list  of  bodily  ailments,  but  found  the  Medical 
Officer  still  unconvinced.  He  commenced  the 
march  in  the  leading  section  of  fours  in  the  leading 
company,  but  gradually  and  discreetly  fell  farther 
and  farther  to  the  rear.  The  end  of  two  miles 
found  him  in  rear  of  No.  2  Company,  and  by  the 
first  halt  he  had  gravitated  past  the  machine-gun 
section,  and  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  an 
unsympathetic  and  critical  medical  detail. 

''  It's  a  shame  asking  a  fine  soldier  like  yourself  to 
walk,  man  Bloodstock ;  you  ought  to  be  on  a  horse 
at  the  head  of  the  regiment,"  said  the  McSpeldron. 

'*  Same  old  complaint  ?" 

"  What's  it  this  time  ?  Housemaid's  knee  or 
varicose  veins  ?" 

The  medical  sergeant  was  deep  in  the  middle 
of  a  lecture  on  the  evils  of  booze,  as  typified  in 
the  case  of  Private  Bloodstock,  when  the  transport 
officer  rode  up. 

"'  What's  wrong.  Sergeant  Bowden  ?" 

''  Private  Bloodstock  unable  to  march  any 
farther.     Wishes  to  fall  out,  and  ride  on  a  waggon." 

''  Where's  the  Medical  Officer  ?" 


124       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  Here,"  answered  the  Doctor,  from  the  ditch 
where,  in  company  with  the  Quartermaster,  he 
had  been  watching  the  episode. 

**  What's  wrong.  Private  Bloodstock  ?" 

"  Sore  back." 

''  What  ?     Were  you  in  the  Navy  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  never." 

''  Well,  how  did  you  get  a  sore  back  ?  I  thought 
the  Navy  had  an  option  on  sore  backs  ?  You 
mean  sore  shoulders  or  pain  down  the  legs  ?" 

''  No,  sir;  sore  back,"  answered  Private  Blood- 
stock stubbornly.  ''  Fve  been  sweating  blood  all 
morning." 

''  No,  no,  not  blood.  You  mean  red  wine.  This 
is  clearing  your  system  out;  you'll  be  a  different 
man  at  the  end  of  the  march.  It's  doing  you  a 
lot  of  good." 

''  No,  sir;  it's  killing  me.  I'll  die  if  I  keep  on  " 
— assuming  an  appearance  of  suffering  martyrdom. 

"  Well,  don't  pull  a  face  like  that;  you'll  frighten 
the  mules.     Let  me  see.     Sergeant  Bowden  !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

''  Am  I  right  ?  This  man  has  fallen  out  on 
every  march  we've  done  so  far  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so.     Private  Bloodstock,  you'll 

carry  on.     Don't  fall  out  again,  or  you'll  find  the 

experiment  a  trifle  disastrous.     Fall  in  with  your 

company." 

There  were  several  Private  Bloodstocks  in  the 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  125 

regiment.  It  was  their  habit  to  gain  the  shelter 
of  the  transport  waggons,  where  they  could  sur- 
reptitiously deposit  their  rifles  on  one  of  the  limbers, 
and  by  holding  on  to  the  back-board,  help  them- 
selves along  on  their  weary  way.  The  transport 
officer,  rushing  about  like  a  fretful  wasp,  was 
for  ever  on  their  trail,  worrying  them  and  bringing 
their  schemes  to  nought.  The  transport  sergeant 
was  no  less  antagonistic:  ''  Come  on,  you  cripples; 
no  joy-riding  here." 

Down  one  side  of  a  broad  valley  and  up  the 
other  the  Brigade  steadily  made  its  way.  Every- 
thing was  still  and  peaceful.  A  jay,  perched 
on  a  stumpy  willow,  whimsically  surveyed  the 
moving  column,  twisting  its  neck  to  get  the  better 
look.  A  hare,  disturbed,  rose  lazily  from  the 
grass  and  sped  leisurely  across  an  open  field; 
only  the  long  winding  khaki  snake  spoke  of  great 
doings  and  events,  as  it  passed  on  its  way  through 
the  sleepy  hamlets  and  past  the  waving  wind- 
mills. 

And  somewhere  on  the  road  was  the  Brigadier, 
waiting  for  us  to  march  by.  Day  or  night  it  was 
always  the  same — addressing  each  officer  and 
many  of  the  men  by  name  as  we  passed;  silent 
otherwise,  yet  noting  every  detail,  overlooking 
us  as  we  looked  up  to  him  with  mutual  regard 
and  liking.  Truly  we  were  a  happy,  if  a  large, 
family  in  the  Brigade,  held  together  to  some 
extent  by  our  training,  to  some  extent  by  the 


126       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

same  common  purpose;  but  the  factor  that  bulked 
largest  in  our  minds  was  the  extraordinary  tie 
of  loyalty  that  bound  us  to  our  Brigadier,  and 
the  discipHne  that  went  with  it,  and  which  he 
required  of  us.  For  with  discipline  and  loyalty 
you  can  do  anything. 

At  the  starting-place  the  Brigade  had  assembled, 
each  unit  arriving  with  precision  and  punctuality, 
and  so,  as  we  arrived  at  the  end  of  our  march, 
the  column  silently  faded  away.  Here  a  company 
turned  to  right  or  left,  their  transport  halted  at 
its  appointed  place  on  the  roadside.  Everyone 
knew  where  to  go  and  what  to  do;  quietly  they 
departed  into  the  night,  and  their  billets  swallowed 
them  up. 

Here  in  a  peaceful  rolling  country,  amid  avenues 
of  poplar-trees  and  the  gaunt  frameworks  of  naked 
hop-fields,  the  Pompadours  reposed.  Not  that 
we  were  idle:  training  still  went  on.  Companies 
foot-slogged  along  the  road;  that  special  suicide 
club,  the  machine-gunners,  practised  themselves 
in  methods  of  assault  and  defence. 

A  new  arm  of  the  Service  had  sprung  up  recently ; 
we  first  became  aware  of  it  at  Plumbois.  Gradually 
we  were  undergoing  a  reversion  to  type  in  some 
of  our  methods,  and  returning  to  the  weapons  of 
our  ancestors.  Squads  of  men  were  seen  in  some 
quiet  selected  country  field  hurling  missiles  at 
one  another,  as  though  practising  slow  bowling. 
These  were  the  bombers,  our  anarchists,  at  play 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  127 

with  their  jam-pots.  Soon  they  were  to  become 
one  of  the  most  efficient  forces  in  the  Army. 

After  pleasant  days  at  work,  and  evenings 
spent  playing  football  and  baseball,  we  received 
our  orders  to  march.  Like  children  going  on  a 
Sunday-school  treat,  we  assembled  at  the  starting- 
point.  Here  were  London  busses  from  Charing 
Cross,  the  Waterloo  Road,  Pimlico,  and  the 
Elephant  and  Castle.  The  outside  seats  were 
the  most  popular.  Through  the  quiet  and  smiling 
country  the  long  train  of  motor  caravans  wound 
its  way  towards  the  firing-line,  leaving  behind  it 
a  long  trail  of  white  dust.  Through  villages  we 
bumped  and  jolted;  past  farm-houses  and  fields, 
under  avenues  of  poplars  and  between  green  hedges, 
we  bussed  it  to  the  firing-line. 

At  Malmartre  we  left  our  busses  and  marched. 
A  military  band  composed  of  a  concertina,  half 
a  dozen  mouth-organs  and  two  biscuit-tins — the 
pride  of  the  ''  D  "  Company — helped  us  on  our 
way.  Under  the  leadership  of  Sergeant  Wells, 
they  inspired  us  to  noble  deeds  by  the  stirring 
strains  they  played.  The  Western  Brigade 
marched  at  the  head  of  the  Division  and  the 
Pompadours  marched  at  the  head  of  the  Western 
Brigade,  and  Colonel  O'Shea  rode  at  the  head 
of  the  Pompadours  on  the  big  chestnut  with  white 
points.  The  best  Colonel  of  the  best  regiment  on 
the  Western  front. 

It  was  evening  when  we  entered  the  City  of 


128       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

Distress,  and  in  the  golden  west  the  sun  was 
sinking — a  fiery  ball  of  red.  We  marched  past 
the  cathedral  and  turned  the  corner  at  the  famous 
town  hall.  As  we  took  the  turning  and  wheeled 
into  the  square,  we  saw  the  sad  effect  that  shot 
and  shell  had  wrought  on  the  graceful  lines  of  that 
historic  building.  Here  was  a  city  that  had  been 
a  large  and  important  centre  when  London  was 
but  a  village — a  site  that  centuries  ago  had  been 
the  meeting-place  of  Kings,  and  that  now  under 
a  new-born  wave  of  ruthlessness,  after  centuries 
of  peaceful  uneventful  prosperity,  had  again 
sprung  into  the  limelight  amid  the  roar  of  guns 
and  the  blinding  belch  of  shrapnel. 

The  town  hall  and  the  cathedral  showed  ample 
evidence  of  the  effectiveness  of  artillery  fire,  but 
otherwise  the  town  appeared  very  slightly  damaged. 
Here  and  there  a  house  was  knocked  about,  or 
the  dislodged  paving-stones  showed  where  a  shell 
had  fallen.  The  square  was  alive  with  people; 
at  a  hotel  the  guests  were  just  sitting  down  to 
dinner;  the  shops  were  just  commencing  to  light 
up;  an  air  of  busy  cheerfulness  permeated  the 
community. 

We  left  the  city  walls  behind  us  in  the  gathering 
gloom  and  proceeded  to  the  east.  In  the  in- 
creasing darkness  as  we  passed  on  our  way,  the 
dim  forms  of  villages  showed  blurred  and  in- 
distinct. Three  names  on  the  map,  three  Belgian 
villages  and  nothing  more,  but  names  which  were 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  129 

soon  to  be  burnt  into  our  memories  and  there 
remain  as  fixed  points  for  ever  —  St.  Michel, 
Boscap,  and  St.  Jacques;  and  ever  upward  the 
road  mounted  until  finally  we  arrived  at  Shelled 
Corner.  Here  on  the  ridge  we  saw  the  half-circle 
of  German  lights  rising  and  falling  seemingly  on  all 
sides  of  us.  From  here  the  country  sloped  down 
on  either  side  of  us  backwards  to  the  city  we  had 
just  left,  and  forwards  to  where  our  own  and  the 
German  lines  lay  facing  one  another  in  the  valley 
beneath. 

Our  way  lay  along  the  ridge,  and  we  passed 
several  roofless  buildings  whose  shattered  walls 
showed  grim  and  silent  in  the  light  of  the  star- 
shells.  Here  the  bullets  hummed  and  buzzed 
across  the  road,  and  here  we  picked  our  way  amid 
gaping  shell-craters  and  freshly  torn  earth. 

We  were  relieving  the  French.  For  months 
they  had  held  this  far-flung  line,  holding  on  to 
their  shallow  wireless  trenches  through  the  dreary 
winter's  mud  and  rain.  A  cellar,  deeply  buried  amid 
the  ruins  of  a  farm-house,  formed  the  headquarters, 
and  from  this,  communication  to  the  front  line  was 
only  to  be  had  during  the  day  by  telephone.  The 
ground  sloping  downwards  to  the  front  line  was 
destitute  of  communication  trenches.  Outside,  the 
moon  was  just  rising,  shining  on  the  hardy  warriors 
of  France  as  they  formed  up  before  marching 
away.  Many  of  them  spoke  English  and  some 
had  lived  in  Canada,  and  from  them  we  gleaned 

9 


130       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

much  information  about  our  new  line  and  about 
the  habits  of  the  enemy. 

The  day  dawned  bright   and  the  country  was 
soon  bathed  in  sunshine.     We  now  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  what  manner  of  place  we  were 
in.     It  was  a  land  bare  and  bleak,  with  few  houses 
and  with  fewer  signs  of  population  than  the  smiling 
pastures  we  had  left.     Yet  it  was  by  no  means 
unpleasant.     Across  the  valley,  and  well  behind 
the  German  lines,  a  village  with  white  walls  and 
red  roofs  lay  straggling  along  a  road.     Over  in 
the  German  lines  a  balloon  hung  motionless,  and 
soon  we  were  to  know  the  reason  of  its  presence. 
A  long-drawn  shriek,   quickly  rising  in  a   swift 
crescendo,  and  a  shell  dropped  in  the  field  some 
forty  yards  from  us.     Major  Meldrum  and  Captain 
Wallace  and  the  Adjutant  quickly  sought  cover. 
That,  however,  did  not  satisfy  the  observers  from 
the  balloon.     Three  more  shells  followed  the  first 
in  rapid  succession;  they  were  big  ones,  bursting 
with  a  rattling  jar  and  a  cloud  of  black  smoke. 
Then   followed   a   flight   of   ''  whizz-bangs,"   that 
brought  down  the  bricks  and  scattered  splinters 
broadcast.     The  telephone  bell  rang.     ''  A  "  Com- 
pany in  the  front  line  were  catching  it  also ;  already 
they  had  had  several  casualties. 

We  had  been  shelled  frequently  at  Plumbois 
and  at  the  Bois  de  Perdrix,  but  there  they  were 
only  ''  pip-squeaks  "  and  ''  whizz-bangs,"  which 
nobody  paid  much  attention  to.    Here,  however, 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  131 

it  was  different,  and  there  was  something  com- 
pelHng  in  the  shattering  roar  of  the  high  explosive. 
We  stayed  in  our  cellar  and  hoped  that  if  a  shell 
alighted  on  the  roof,  the  layers  of  sandbag  and 
brick  would  be  strong  enough  to  sustain  the  im- 
pact. Presently  the  bombardment  quieted  down 
and  we  crept  out.  This  time,  however,  we  kept 
low  behind  our  ruined  walls;  for  we  had  had  our 
lesson :  that  balloon,  hanging  in  the  sky  to  the  east, 
was  watching  every  movement. 

Outside,  the  sentry  in  the  yard  yawned  and 
stretched  himself.  He  alone  had  remained  above 
ground  during  the  firing,  although  two  shells  had 
landed  in  the  yard,  and  splinters  had  fallen  all 
round  him.  The  Roman  sentinel  at  Pompeii  was 
not  braver  or  more  contemptuous  of  danger  than 
are  our  sentries  of  to-day.  At  cross-roads,  with 
shrapnel  bursting  overhead,  or  at  the  gateways 
of  farm  buildings  rocking  beneath  the  blows  of 
high  explosive,  they  stand  calmly  and  apparently 
indifferent,  the  air  heavy  with  the  reek  of  poisonous 
gas,  and  splinters  of  shell  and  broken  brick  falling 
all  around. 

The  whole  of  our  front  line  received  a  dusting. 
The  reason  was  not  hard  to  find.  The  French 
during  the  day  had  lain  quietly  in  their  dugouts, 
appearing  as  seldom  as  was  possible.  We,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  be  always  on  the  move,  courting 
disaster  by  so  doing;  for  ever  the  old  balloon 
soared  aloft  in  the  sky  and  sent  its  messages  to 


132       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  waiting  artillery,  who  were  not  slow  to  take 
its  toll  of  us.  In  ''  A "  Company  Lieutenant 
Ball  was  twice  buried  in  the  ruins  of  the  parapet 
only  to  rise  again  and  shake  himself  and  carry  on. 
On  the  right  Captain  Wales  had  a  bullet  through 
his  cap  as  a  gentle  reminder  to  keep  his  head 
down,  and  Allonby,  of  the  same  company,  was 
wakened  by  a  whiz-bang  which  suddenly  invaded 
his  dugout,  but  failed  entirely  to  explode.  Twenty- 
five  casualties  in  all  was  the  result  of  our  first 
day's  experience,  and  the  French  had  had  two 
in  the  last  three  weeks;  certainly  their  methods 
of  warfare  had  something  to  recommend  them  ! 

Late  that  night  the  Padre  and  the  Doctor  were 
enjoying  a  stroll.  The  wounded  had  all  been 
cleared,  and  the  opportunity  appeared  fitting  to 
gain  a  knowledge  of  the  country.  Together  they 
wandered  back  from  the  firing-lines  and  found 
themselves  opposite  a  farm-house  some  three 
miles  in  rear. 

"  I'll  lead  you  back  across  country  by  the  stars 
if  you  like.  Doctor,"  suggested  the  Padre,  who 
had  been  reading  some  light  astronomical  literature 
in  a  popular  journal  in  his  spare  moments. 

The  sky  overhead  was  in  places  obscured  by 
patches  of  drifting  cloud,  and  the  Medical  Officer 
appeared  sceptical. 

''  Where's  the  Pole-star  ?" 

''  I  can't  quite  make  out,  as  the  Great  Bear 
seems  to  be  hidden  in  a  cloud,  but  that  must  be 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  133 

Andromeda  over  there;  at  this  season  of  the  year 
it  is  just  to  the  east  of  the  Pole-star.  Those  stars 
up  there  must  be  part  of  Cassiopeia;  it  is  supposed 
to  look  like  a  W." 

''  Well,  whoever  said  it  was  a  W  must  have 
been  drinking;  it  looks  more  like  a  dice-box," 
objected  the  Medical  Officer.  ''  What  are  those 
three  things  down  there  ?" — pointing  to  three  stars 
low  down  on  the  horizon. 

''  Let  me  see:  those  must  be  Perseus,"  explained 
the  man  of  God  a  trifle  uncertainly.  ''  That 
decides  it:  those  stars  are  all  in  the  north-east  of 
the  heavens  at  this  season,  so  we're  all  right.  Let 
us  proceed." 

They  proceeded  some  distance  in  silence,  when 
the  Medical  Officer  again  became  suspicious. 

''  But,  Padre,  we're  going  downhill.  Now,  our 
quarters  are  somewhere  on  the  top  of  the  ridge, 
so  by  all  the  rules  of  the  game  we  ought  to  go  up." 

''  Well,  but  look  at  Andromeda." 

"  Andromeda  be  hanged  !  Do  you  know  that 
I've  been  clearing  wounded  since  seven  o'clock, 
and  it's  now  about  2  a.m.  Here's  a  sentry;  we'll 
ask  him." 

The  sentry  didn't  in  the  least  know  his  location 
on  the  map — in  fact,  sentries  very  seldom  seem  to 
do  so;  but  just  down  the  road  at  the  first  farm 
a  company  was  billeted,  and  it  would  be  possible 
to  ask  the  officer.  The  Doctor  joyfully,  and  the 
Padre  reluctantly,   repaired  thither  in  search  of 


134       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEES  FIELDS 

information.  A  company  officer,  roused  from 
sleep  in  the  farmer's  bedroom,  produced  a  map 
and  showed  where  their  wanderings,  and  the 
Parson's  astronomical  knowledge,  had  brought 
them. 

'*  Why,  you're  going  just  in  the  wrong  direction; 
another  mile  or  two  would  have  landed  you  in  the 
city." 

''  There  you  are.  Padre.  The  solar  system,  or 
whatever  you  call  it,  has  gone  back  on  you." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  can  have  mistaken  Arcturus  ?" 

''  Never  mind  what  you  have  mistaken;  I've 
got  the  way  now:  first  to  the  right  and  second 
to  the  left,  and  then  across  the  flat.  Thank  you 
so  much;  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you." 

The  two  non-combatants  were  again  out  on  the 
road.  Passing  through  a  sleeping  village,  they 
mounted  the  road  in  silence. 

''  Halte  la  !"  suddenly  rang  out  from  the  hedge- 
side. 

The  Padre  and  the  Medical  Officer  "  halted  la  " 
as  directed  and  awaited  developments. 

''  Qui  vive  ?" 

"  Help  !  it's  a  French  sentry,"  muttered  the 
Medical  Officer.  "  Say  something.  Padre,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  or  he'll  start  shooting." 

''  Qui  vive?"  came  the  challenge,  more  peremp- 
torily than  before. 

''  Amies  Canadiennes,"  responded  the  man  of 
God  in  husky  tones. 


FLOUNDERING  IN  FLANDERS  135 

*' You're  a  liar,  Padre;  we're  not  women," 
remarked  the  Doctor. 

In  any  case,  the  answer  apparently  allayed  the 
suspicions  of  the  sentry,  for  he  called  something  in 
the  darkness.  Presently  two  other  forms  appeared 
out  of  the  night  and  advanced  towards  the  two 
wanderers. 

One  of  the  two,  evidently  a  non-commissioned 
officer,  commenced  a  lengthy  harangue,  in  which 
the  word  ''  mot  "  occurred  at  frequent  intervals. 

"I  have  it,"  said  the  Medical  Officer.  "He 
wants  the  word — the  password.  Try  him  with  the 
Word  of  God;  it's  all  we've  got." 

Both  the  Parson  and  the  Doctor  denied  any 
knowledge  of  the  word,  so  nothing  remained  but 
to  retrace  their  footsteps  towards  the  village  they 
had  recently  quitted  in  charge  of  an  escort. 

''  We'll  probably  be  shot  at  dawn,"  the  Doctor 
suggested.  *'  I  hope  the  next  time  you  want  to 
practise  astronomy  you'll  take  one  of  the  bugle- 
boys  out  with  you  and  leave  me  at  home." 

Down  the  road  they  tramped,  the  two  Gallic 
warriors  with  yard-long  convincing  bayonets  poking 
in  the  small  of  their  back.  Opposite  the  door  of 
one  of  the  houses  they  paused,  and  one  of  the 
guards  knocked.  After  a  brief  delay  they  were 
admitted.  Inside  was  a  room;  the  floor  formed 
the  couch  of  several  French  soldiers  asleep;  at  a 
table  a  non-commissioned  officer  was  writing  by 
the  Hght  of  a  single  candle.     The  guard  rapidly 


136       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

stated  his  case,  to  which  the  non-commissioned 
officer  Hstened  attentively.  Presently  he  turned 
to  the  two  prisoners  and  asked  in  Enghsh: 

''  Who  are  you  ?" 

"  Canadian  officers,"  repHed  the  Padre,  adding 
ingratiatingly:  ''Very  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but 
these  gentlemen  here  with  the  bayonets  were  so 
very  insistent." 

''  What  regiment  ?" 

''  The  Pompadours." 

The  soiis-qfficier  proceeded  to  examine  the 
reverend  gentleman's  badges,  but  as  these  were 
all  of  the  iron-cross  variety,  he  gained  little  in- 
formation— they  appeared,  in  fact,  to  irritate  him. 
The  Medical  Officer,  in  a  private's  British  ''  warm  " 
and  a  Balaclava  helmet,  carried  no  external  badges 
of  information. 

''  Take  of!  your  coat." 

The  Doctor  complied,  quite  forgetting  that  in 
his  hurry  of  bandaging  up  the  wounded  he  had 
forgotten  to  put  on  his  tunic.  The  French  N.C.O. 
appeared  still  more  suspicious,  giving  an  order  to 
the  two  guards,  who  at  once  assumed  a  position 
on  either  side  of  the  prisoners.  He  then  left  the 
room. 

"  Undoubtedly  we  shall  be  shot,"  remarked  the 
Doctor.     ''  How's  your  pulse.  Padre  ?" 

Presently  the  sous-qfficier  returned  with  his 
Commanding  Officer,  who  courteously  commenced 
to    question    the    prisoners.     Through    the    inter- 


FLOUNDEEING  IN  FLANDERS  137 

mediary  of  the  sous-officier  he  demanded  their 
rankj  name,  and  occupation,  and  appeared  satisfied 
with  his  investigation.  Finally  he  told  them  the 
watchword,  and  bidding  them  ''  Au  re  voir,"  wished 
them  "  Bon  chance."  Out  on  the  road  the  Padre 
and  the  Doctor  resumed  their  interrupted  stroll. 
Up  the  road  they  met  the  sentry,  to  whom  they 
joyfully  imparted  the  magic  word,  coupled  with  a 
small  legacy  for  the  provision  of  red  wine. 

The  two  wanderers  parted  from  their  guards 
with  mutual  feelings  of  regret,  and,  I  trust,  respect. 

They  had  gone  some  distance  without  a  word 
being  spoken  on  either  side.  Suddenly  the  Medical 
Officer  broke  the  silence : 

"  What's  that  star  over  there.  Padre  ?" 

''  That,  I  think,  must  be  the  star  in  the  east; 
if  you're  a  wise  man,  you'll  seek  it  and  go  to  bed," 
answered  the  man  of  God. 

A  week  we  spent  on  the  ridge — a  week  of  shelling 
and  sacrifice.  Always  in  the  east  the  balloon 
hung,  and  whenever  we  showed,  we  lost  men. 
Undoubtedly  it  was  no  health  resort,  but  though 
we  remained  quietly  dodging  the  shells  like  rabbits 
in  a  hedgerow,  others  were  more  busy.  Overhead, 
aeroplanes  soared  aloft  like  fretful  midges.  For 
the  most  part  when  two  aeroplanes  from  opposite 
sides  met,  they  studiously  cut  one  another,  but 
occasionally  they  so  far  forgot  their  society  manners 
as  to  make  an  attack.  Then  the  infantry,  bored 
with  inaction  in  the  front-line  trench,  had  a  short 


138       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

fleeting  spell  of  excitement  while  the  hostile  planes 
circled  round  one  another  like  eagles  fighting  for 
an  opening.  Occasionally  one  was  brought  down, 
and  then,  if  it  was  a  German,  a  cheer  would  travel 
down  the  trench  for  miles  and  miles,  until  the 
enemy,  enraged  at  our  success,  would  open  up 
rapid  rifle-fire  to  remind  us  to  keep  our  heads  down 
and  not  to  gloat  over-much. 

The  artillery  also  appeared  to  have  a  secret  com- 
pact to  ignore  one  another,  and  confined  their 
efforts  to  making  things  uncomfortable  for  the 
infantry  in  the  front  line.  Ours  took  an  unholy 
joy  in  shelling  the  German  trench,  until  the  Hun 
was  forced  to  retaliate.  Then  as  the  sandbags 
collapsed  and  fell  tumbling  upon  us,  and  the 
parapet  gradually  disappeared  in  the  deafening 
report  of  high  explosives  and  the  rain  of  flying 
fragments,  we  strafed  the  gunners,  and  invented 
new  insults  to  hurl  at  them  the  next  time  our  rest 
billets  took  us  in  the  neighbourhood  of  their 
batteries. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS 

For  two  days  we  had  been  in  reserve  billets.  In 
the  afternoons  we  had  ridden  down  to  the  city, 
and  according  to  our  various  tastes  amused  our- 
selves. "  It  sure  is  a  live  town,"  remarked  Ser- 
geant Duck  Roberts,  and  he  certainly  had  some 
grounds  on  which  to  base  his  contention.  The 
inhabitants,  who  had  departed  at  the  time  of  the 
great  battle,  had,  many  of  them,  returned.  In- 
different to  shell-fire,  they  pursued  their  various 
vocations,  and  I  have  little  doubt  derived  a 
lucrative  return  from  their  open-handed  allies. 

There  were  points  of  interest  in  the  city  with 
its  moat  and  battlements,  its  houses  faced  with 
timber,  and  the  venerable  churches.  We  spent 
the  afternoon  in  visiting  our  friends  in  the  bat- 
talions quartered  there,  and  dined  at  the  Hotel 
au  Pigeon. 

It  was  four  in  the  afternoon,  and  all  was 
still  and  peaceful.  Outside,  the  men  lay  basking 
in  the  April  sunshine  or  indulging  in  games 
of  chance  and  skill.  Round  the  end  of  the 
farm  building  half  a  dozen  men  were  kicking  a 

139 


140       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

football  about.  A  game  of  quoits,  played  with 
horseshoes,  absorbed  the  interest  of  another 
quartette.  On  the  ground  a  group  was  gathered 
round  the  royal  and  ancient  game  of  crown  and 
anchor.  Here  and  there  sundry  tattered  warriors 
were  repairing  the  rents  in  their  garments  caused 
by  barbed  wire,  while  others  stripped  to  the  waist 
conducted  operations  of  engrossing  interest  and 
of  a  nature  reminiscent  of  the  monkey-house  at 
the  Zoo  !  Even  that  strict  martinet,  the  sergeant- 
major,  had  relinquished  somewhat  of  his  habitual 
sternness,  and  permitted  his  dorsal  muscles  for  the 
time  being  to  relax,  as  he  and  the  signalling  sergeant 
strolled  backwards  and  forwards  in  front  of  the 
headquarters  of  the  Pompadours. 

Inside,  the  officers  employed  the  idle  afternoon 
according  to  their  various  tastes:  the  Colonel 
pursued  a  scheme  of  defence;  Major  Meldrum 
busied  himself  with  the  war  diary,  and  the  Adjutant 
compiled  a  nominal  roll;  it  was,  he  said,  the 
twentieth  since  the  formation  of  the  regiment, 
and  showed  no  signs  of  being  more  correct  than 
its  predecessors.  In  a  corner,  stretched  on  his 
blankets,  the  Medical  Officer  snored  noisily  and 
ungracefully. 

"  Grosvenor,  would  you  mind  throwing  a  boot 
at  the  Medical  Officer;  he's  disturbing  my  train 
of  thought,"  the  Major  requested. 

The  Adjutant  complied  with  his  request.  It 
was  a  good  shot,  and  the  snoring  ceased. 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  141 

"  We  don't  mind  you  sleeping,  Pills,  but  please 
don't  make  such  a  noise  about  it,"  remarked  the 
Major. 

The  Medical  Officer  yawned  and,  rising,  left  the 
room. 

The  Bosches  suddenly  appeared  to  have  become 
active,  and  to  be  concentrating  their  attention  on 
the  neighbouring  village  of  St.  Jacques. 

As  the  Medical  Officer  walked  round  the  corner 
of  the  farm  buildings  the  football  game  had  ceased, 
and  the  men  were  watching  the  bombardment. 
Certainly  it  was  an  exacerbation  of  spite.  Big 
crumps  were  falling  round  the  church,  and  roofs 
were  being  lifted,  and  walls  tottered  in  a  cloud 
of  black  smoke  and  brick-dust.  The  Padre  once 
said  there  was  something  noble  about  a  bombard- 
ment. It  may  be  awe-inspiring — that  I  am  pre- 
pared to  admit — but  its  nobility  I  fail  to  see. 
The  card  games  ceased  and  their  devotees  con- 
gregated with  the  footballers  to  see  the  fun.  Not 
much  fun  in  seeing  a  village  gradually  wiped  off 
the  map,  as  it  went  up  in  the  air  and  smoke,  and 
fell  crumbling  in  ruins.  The  church  steeple  went, 
flattened  by  a  direct  hit,  and  already  two  houses 
were  burning.  Across  the  fields  some  men  and 
women  were  running ;  they  were  part  of  the  civilian 
population — the  rats  leaving  the  sinking  ship. 
All  honour  to  them;  they  had  stayed  by  their 
firesides  up  to  the  last  moment,  hoping  against 
hope  that  their  homes  might  be  spared,  and  now 


142       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

with  a  few  personal  effects  they  went  their  way 
blown  as  straws  before  the  devastation  that  was 
like  to  destroy  their  all.  As  they  fled,  puffs  of 
smoke  appeared  above  them  in  the  sky.  Two  of 
them,  a  man  and  a  woman,  paused  in  their  flight; 
they  seemed  to  crumple  and  collapse,  shutting 
up  as  does  a  footrule:  they  were  the  firstfruits 
of  the  German  shrapnel.  The  woman  rose 
and  staggered  on — evidently  she  was  grievously 
stricken;  the  peasant  lay  where  he  fell.  Other 
figures  detached  themselves  from  the  buildings 
or  appeared  over  the  crest  of  the  hill  above  it; 
some  were  running,  others  seemed  scarce  able  to 
walk.  As  they  approached,  we  recognized  they 
were  not  civilians:  their  dusky  faces  and  uniforms 
were  those  of  the  French  colonial  troops.  They 
came  to  us  across  the  fields,  their  faces  blue  beneath 
their  tan,  and  breathing  hard  as  though  from 
running.  Most  of  them  were  wounded,  and  gasp- 
ing; struggling  for  breath,  they  tried  to  tell  us, 
in  a  language  which  our  French  scholars  could  not 
understand,  of  some  terror  that  lay  behind  them. 

''  Cyanosis,"  said  the  Medical  Officer,  as  with 
a    puzzled    expression    he    surveyed    their    livid 

countenances;   ''  but  how  the  Hades Come 

inside."  He  led  the  way  into  the  spacious  cellar 
that  formed  the  regimental  dressing-station,  while 
we  outside  awaited  further  developments.  Still 
the  hail  of  destruction  fell  amid  the  stricken  village, 
threatening  it  with  ultimate  ruin.     To  our  right 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  143 

the  Brigade  Headquarters  were  on  fire,  the  thatched 
roof  burning  merrily  and  the  sparks  driving 
toward  us,  borne  on  the  Hght  east  wind.  Some- 
thing else  came  to  us  carried  also  by  the  evening 
breeze.  At  first  a  faint,  sour  pungency,  that 
dried  our  mouths  and  set  us  coughing.  Over 
there  to  the  north-east  something  was  happening, 
something  that  we  gained  a  slight  suspicion  of, 
from  the  terror-stricken  brown  faces  of  the  swarthy 
soldiers  of  France,  who  still  continued  to  arrive 
in  twos  and  threes. 

Our  artillery  was  not  idle;  first  one  battery  and 
then  another  opened  up,  barking  back  merrily, 
and  answering  shot  for  shot.  With  a  rattle  and 
clash  a  limber  hammered  up  the  road,  the  horses 
stretched  to  a  gallop,  their  drivers  bending  low 
and  their  sergeants  urging  them  on,  all  heedless 
of  the  shrapnel  bursting  overhead. 

''  By  God,  they're  down !"  shouted  Private 
McMutchkin  as  the  off  wheeler  was  seen  to  stumble, 
and  almost  to  fall.  ''  No,  he's  saved  it,  good  lad  !" 
as  the  driver  hauled  the  horse  to  its  feet.  Another 
and  another  limber  followed;  this  was  the  food 
for  the  guns,  and  loudly  they  clamoured  for  it, 
calling  for  more  and  yet  more  again.  Orderlies 
rattled  along  the  road  on  motor-cycles,  bearing 
messages  through  the  tornado  of  flying  metal, 
while  here  and  there  signallers,  with  fine  con- 
tempt of  danger,  mended  the  broken  telephone 
wires. 


144        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

In  the  clamour  of  destruction,  amid  the  wild 
shriek  of  the  flying  shell  and  the  roar  of  guns, 
a  new  sound  mingled;  it  was  the  sharp  rattle  of 
rifle-fire. 

The  telephone  bell  buzzed  industriously.  Then 
came  the  order,  ''  The  Pompadours  will  stand  to." 
With  our  equipment  on,  we  stood  waiting,  watching 
the  racing  limbers,  the  flying  cyclists,  and  the 
wounded  black  men  who  still  staggered  by.  The 
rifle-fire  had  increased  to  a  continuous  patter, 
and  now  the  shells  began  to  search  for  our  farm- 
house. Large  ones  roared  overhead,  flying  on  a 
more  distant  journey,  to  fall  with  a  crumping 
thud  on  the  city  behind  us.  Now  the  something 
which  had  come  to  us  before  was  wafted  to  us 
again,  bringing  the  tears  to  our  eyes,  gripping  us 
by  the  throat,  and  setting  us  catching  our  breaths. 
And  with  it  came  a  Highlander,  one  of  our  own 
Canadians,  bleeding  from  a  wound  in  the  shoulder, 
pale  and  gasping.  Never  did  the  bearer  of  the 
fiery  cross  carry  tidings  so  urgent.  '*  The  Germans 
are  attacking;  they're  all  over  the  place;  we're 
being  suffocated  by  gas." 

"  Take  him  away,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  cool  as 
if  on  church  parade,  to  the  Medical  Officer.  ''  Let 
him  lie  down." 

One  after  another  the  companies  reported  all 
present  and  correct,  and  received  their  orders — 
to  assemble  at  a  certain  cross-roads  on  the 
ridge. 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTEESS  145 

And  now  there  arrived  a  sergeant  of  artillery. 
A  limber  was  ditched  down  the  road:  could  we 
supply  the  men  to  carry  ammunition  to  X  Battery, 
who  were  crying  for  more  ? 

Captain  Grosvenor  asked  for  permission  to  go, 
and  called  for  volunteers. 

The  medical  detail,  being  used  to  carrying 
things,  stepped  forward  as  one  man.  ''  I  want 
men,  not  camp-followers,"  declared  Grosvenor. 
This  was  almost  more  than  the  Medical  Officer 
could  stand;  with  difficulty  he  remained  silent 
under  the  insult  to  his  gallant  band  of  body- 
snatchers,  but  it  strained  him  to  bursting-point. 

''  Sorry  for  being  rude.  Pills,"  said  the  Adjutant, 
and  was  off  with  fifty  men  to  carry  the  sore-needed 
supplies  to  the  hungering  battery. 

Out  upon  the  high-road  the  Adjutant  and  his 
party  went  to  where  the  fallen  limber  stuck, 
hanging  over  the  ditch.  Then  onwards  up  the 
hill,  each  man  with  two  precious  mouthfuls  for 
the  hungry  guns.  Through  the  tottering  village, 
where  brick  walls  bent  and  bulged,  falling  before 
the  storm,  and  where  first  one  and  then  another 
of  this  strange  ration-party  fell  wounded  in  his 
tracks.  Upwards  to  the  battery,  where  anxious 
officers  looked  round,  waiting  for  the  shell  for 
which  they  yearned,  and  sweating  gunners  swore 
at  their  inaction.  Just  as  the  Adjutant  and  his 
band,  bearing  their  precious  burdens,  arrived, 
the  Germans  appeared,  swarming  out  of  a  wood. 

10 


146       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

It  was  a  target  to  dream  of  after  a  full  mess 
dinner — a  target  that  occurs  once  in  the  lifetime 
of  one  in  a  million  gunners.  Bursting  their  shrap- 
nel at  the  muzzle  of  their  guns,  the  artillery 
blew  the  Germans  back  into  the  wood,  and  the 
advancing  grey  swarm  melted  away  as  snow  in 
sunshine. 

Down  in  Malmartre  events  were  shaping  them- 
selves rapidly.  Thither  the  transport  had  betaken 
itself,  and  with  it  the  Quartermaster's  store,  when 
the  shelling  round  the  north  part  of  the  City  of 
Distress  became  so  violent,  that  it  was  not  possible 
to  remain  longer.  Quietly,  and  without  undue 
haste,  they  made  their  exit,  and  found  a  new  site 
for  their  energies  just  west  of  the  cross-roads  at 
Malmartre.  During  this  orderly  removal  they 
were  much  incommoded  by  a  stream  of  fugitives 
hurrying  from  the  doomed  city.  On  horse  and 
on  foot,  in  every  conceivable  type  of  conveyance, 
they  hastened  onward,  their  faces  to  the  west. 
The  way  was  crowded  by  the  hastening  throng,  as 
is  the  high-road  to  Epsom  on  Derby  Day;  yet 
here  there  was  the  double  force — the  attraction 
of  life  in  front  and  the  destruction  of  death  behind 
— driving  them  on  their  way:  vis  a  f route  and 
a  tergo,  and  the  crowd  hurried  down  the  one 
main  artery,  scarce  pausing  to  look  to  right  or 
left,  like  scared  corpuscles  in  an  over-heated 
bloodstream. 

The  Paymaster  and  the  Quartermaster,  standing 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTKESS  147 

at  the  shop-door  of  the  new  Quartermaster's  store, 
surveyed  the  moving  mob.  There  were  women 
and  children,  snatched  suddenly  from  their  homes 
where  all  their  lives  had  been  spent,  as  plants 
suddenly  torn  up  by  the  roots.  Some  still  wore 
the  wooden  shoes  of  their  housework,  so  hastily 
had  the  desire  to  leave  come  upon  them;  others 
arrayed  in  their  Sunday  best,  of  musty  black,  with 
artificial  blooms  nodding  in  their  hats,  passed  by. 
Here  a  stalwart  peasant-woman — her  skirt  looped 
up  to  show  a  pair  of  passionless  thick  ankles, 
her  black  bonnet  with  its  bobbing  jet  adorn- 
ment tilted  rakishly  above  her  broad,  perspiring 
face — paused  in  her  onward  passage  to  cuff  the 
handiest  ear  of  her  dragging  offspring,  who,  with 
the  apparent  heedlessness  of  childhood,  hung  back, 
watching  the  crowd  and  listening  to  the  guns, 
all  unconcernedly  and  with  interest.  Another 
woman,  with  an  infant  lying  half  buried  beneath 
the  load  of  a  well-packed  perambulator,  paused 
to  wait  on  her  two  small  girls  who  had  straggled 
somewhat  in  the  rear.  One  couldn't  help  wonder- 
ing how  often  this  anxious  mother  had  paused 
already  since  leaving  home,  retarded  by  the  two 
small  maids  who  dawdled  behind  her.  They  also 
were  dressed  to  kill,  or  to  be  killed — what  matter, 
since  we  are  all  as  good  as  dead  until  the  war  is 
over  ? — but  their  finery  was  sadly  spoiled  by  the 
dust  and  ruin  of  the  road.  A  battery  of  French 
artillery,    the    murderous    soixante-quinze,    came 


148       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

trotting  through  the  village,  scattering  the  fugitives 
to  right  and  left,  like  hens  in  front  of  a  motor. 
The  smaller  of  the  two  small  maidens  turned  to 
look  and  fell  sprawling;  her  sister,  still  clutching 
her  hand,  bent  over  her,  and  tried  to  pull  her 
away  from  beneath  the  iron-shod  hoofs  that 
thundered  down  on  her.  Above  the  rattle  and 
the  jingling  rang  the  shrill  screams  of  the  mother. 
Private  Beattie  of  the  Pompadours  ran  in,  grab- 
bing the  two  small  mites  in  either  hand  as  the 
French  drivers  brought  their  horses  to  a  stand- 
still, and  the  Quartermaster  took  possession  of  the 
perambulator,  which  he  pulled  on  to  the  side- 
walk. 

''  See  this  lady  through  the  village,"  said  the 
Quartermaster  to  Private  Beattie. 

In  the  wake  of  the  French  seventy-fives  followed 
more  refugees:  a  youth,  not  yet  of  military  age, 
guiding  by  a  rope  a  dog  team  four  abreast,  straining 
in  front  of  a  soap-box  on  wheels,  on  which  sat  an 
aged  woman,  her  knees  drawn  up  beneath  her  chin, 
her  umbrella  grasped  in  black  cotton  gloves,  her 
funereal  bonnet  nodding  as  her  precarious  chariot 
swayed  from  side  to  side.  Another  ancient  dame 
passed  on  her  way  seated  in  a  ramshackle  peram- 
bulator. A  wizened,  toothless  return  to  second 
childishness. 

There  were  two-wheeled  rigs  with  tilts,  designed 
for  two,  but  now  for  the  first  time  found  to  have 
a  carrying  capacity  for  six  or  seven;  wheelbarrows, 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  149 

carts  packed  with  humanity,  dragged  behind 
enormous,  steady,  slow  Flemish  horses  which  an- 
swered to  the  touch  of  the  single-string  rein. 
There  were  cabs  and  victorias,  piled  high  with 
household  goods.  In  one,  a  fat  citizen,  probably 
a  shopkeeper,  rolled  by  smoking  a  cigar  and 
embracing  a  marble  clock,  as  he  sat  surrounded 
by  his  family.  A  Canadian  limber  came  along 
Tied  behind,  was  an  old  lady  in  a  crazy  four- 
wheeled  cart,  like  a  canoe  dragging  in  the  wake 
of  the  Mauretania.  The  courteous  driver  of  the 
limber,  forcing  his  team  through  the  surrounding 
hubbub,  was  quite  oblivious  to  the  wails  of  distress 
emanating  from  his  tiny  consort.  He  was  giving 
the  old  lady  a  lift — that  was  enough;  and  now, 
amid  the  noise  and  tumult,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
squeals  and  lamentations  that  each  fresh  jolt  and 
swerve,  which  threatened  to  precipitate  her  on  the 
pavement,  wrung  from  the  terrified  antiquity  tied 
on  to  his  tail-board. 

Another  old  lady  seated  in  a  wheelbarrow, 
pushed  by  a  bulky  peasant,  was  borne  past  un- 
complaining, her  legs  dangling  grotesquely  to 
either  side,  with  a  most  unmatronly  display  of 
limb,  encased  in  grey  socks  and  elastic-sided 
boots. 

Amid  the  jostHng  push  were  French  colonial 
troops,  many  of  them  wounded  and  many  still 
struggling  for  the  breath  denied  them  by  the 
poisonous  gas;  French  ambulances  bearing  their 


150       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

cargo  of  sufferers  :  all  with  one  common  object 
and  one  single  goal  in  view,  they  ran,  limped, 
walked,  and  staggered  past  the  waiting  Canadian 
soldiers. 

Then,  to  add  to  the  confusion,  the  German 
shells  commenced  to  fall  around  the  village,  and 
the  jostling  crowd,  hurrying  through,  broke  into 
an  ungainly  run,  and  a  shell,  falling  square,  landed 
in  a  house  with  a  flush  hit.  The  Paymaster  went 
across  the  street  to  see  if  anyone  was  hurt.  In 
the  eating-room  a  family  party  was  assembled, 
still  at  the  table  when  death  came  to  them.  The 
father  fallen  forward  on  the  table,  his  face  buried 
in  his  arms,  appeared  to  sleep;  the  mother,  sitting 
back  in  her  chair,  gazed  in  front  of  her  with  fixed, 
unwinking  stare;  and  in  a  high  chair,  leaning 
sideways  on  the  wooden  tray  in  front  of  him,  was 
a  small  boy — a  tiny  child  with  flaxen  hair,  wet  and 
dabbled  in  blood,  his  hand  still  clutching  a  now 
useless  spoon,  and  his  toys  lying  beside  him  on  the 
floor.     This,  my  friends,  is  the  effect  of  shell-fire. 

The  companies  had  all  departed  in  the  oncoming 
night,  leaving  the  Colonel  and  the  Medical  Officer 
and  a  few  stretcher-bearers  and  signallers  beside 
the  farm-house. 

''  Well,  Doctor,  it's  time  we  were  off,''  remarked 
the  O.C.  as  he  threw  away  his  cigarette.  ''  We'll 
overtake  the  companies  near  the  cross-roads." 

The  headquarter  units  emulated  the  brave  old 
Duke  of  York  and  marched  towards  the  top  of 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  151 

the  hill.  At  times  they  encountered  stragglers, 
for  the  most  part  French  native  troops  who,  in 
broken  French  and  by  the  aid  of  gestures,  gave 
them  to  understand  that  all  was  lost  and  the 
Germans  were  upon  them.  A  few  Highlanders 
there  were  too,  either  gassed  or  wounded;  they 
were  more  complacent  than  their  dusky  allies, 
and  the  information  they  brought  that  the  Germans 
were  in  on  the  left,  but  that  the  Highland  brigade 
were  breaking  the  first  shock  of  the  attack,  was 
more  reassuring.  Moreover,  the  Colonel  didn't 
seem  to  be  flurried,  and  the  Medical  Officer  was 
too  ignorant  of  military  matters  to  realize  the 
seriousness  of  the  position,  so  the  non-combatant 
details  trudged  along  in  a  state  of  happy  expec- 
tation. 

They  skirted  the  fiery  furnace  that  had  been 
brigade  battle  headquarters,  and  as  they  rejoined 
the  road  on  the  windward  side,  Captain  Ainslie 
waved  to  them  from  the  roadside. 

''  Hot  times,  Ainslie,"  shouted  the  Colonel. 
"  How's  the  General  ?" 

"  He's  moved  into  the  barn  as  temporary  head- 
quarters." 

A  burst  of  shrapnel  swept  the  road,  but  nobody 
was  hit.  The  Colonel  gave  the  order  to  open  out, 
and  in  single  flight,  like  so  many  ducks,  the  details 
arrived  at  the  cross-roads. 

By  this  time  things  had  quieted  down  con- 
siderably;   bursts    of   rifle-fire   still   continued   at 


152       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

short  intervals,  but  the  big-gun  fire  seemed  to  be 
concentrated  farther  back,  probably  on  the  roads. 
Rapidly  the  Colonel  told  us,  to  the  best  of  his 
knowledge,  what  had  happened.  On  our  left  the 
French  division  of  coloured  troops  had  been 
gassed  by  the  Bosches.  Confronted  by  a  slow- 
moving  green  cloud  that  crept  towards  them  in 
billows  as  an  oncoming  tide,  they  believed  them- 
selves suddenly  attacked  by  some  new  and  ruthless 
type  of  devil.  Amid  the  havoc  of  their  shot-torn 
trenches,  gasping  for  breath  in  the  suffocating 
blast  of  this  relentless  green  monster,  with  their 
officers  down,  they  had  fallen  back.  By  the  gap 
thus  formed  our  left  flank  had  been  exposed,  and 
now  it  was  the  task  of  the  Pompadours,  along 
with  the  others,  to  attempt  to  fill  in  the  blank. 

As  we  moved  along  the  ridge  to  take  up  our 
position,  the  Germans  kindly  showed  us  their  new 
position  by  sending  up  the  customary  star-shells. 
They  certainly  had  advanced  quite  a  respectable 
distance,  and  were  not  only  on  the  top  of  the 
ridge  to  our  left,  but  lapping  over  on  the  farther 
side. 

''  I  wonder  what  they're  waiting  for  ?  Why 
don't  they  go  on  and  take  the  city  ?"  remarked 
Major  Meldrum,  who  now  joined  us. 

''  Yes;  there's  only  a  few  transport  lines  and 
some  telephone-wires  to  hold  them  up,"  the  Colonel 
admitted.  ''  Anyhow,  now  we  can  see  exactly 
where  they  are." 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  153 

The  Major  had  arrived,  brimful  of  intenigence, 
from  the  battahon  which  was  to  form  our  left. 
The  new  headquarters,  just  beyond  Shattered 
Shelters,  proved  to  be  a  wonderfully  preserved 
farm  dwelling,  with  our  new  line  some  three  hundred 
yards  in  front.  Three  companies  proceeded  to  dig 
themselves  in ;  the  fourth  had  been  left  in  a  defended 
locality  on  the  top  of  the  ridge. 

While  the  companies  scraped  and  burrowed  like 
fox-terriers  round  a  rat-hole,  a  wonderful  thing 
happened. 

A  low  rumble,  coming  from  our  rear,  gradually 
became  disintegrated  into  a  well-known  variety  of 
sounds. 

Clattering  and  jingling,  swearing  and  perspiring, 
the  transport  arrived  at  Shattered  Shelters.  That 
famous  sleuth-hound,  the  transport  officer,  with 
his  unerring  sense  of  smell,  had  nosed  us  out ! 
What  his  transport  went  through  to  get  to  us  on 
that  occasion,  and  on  many  others,  was  best 
shown  by  the  broken  limbers  and  dead  horses 
that  strewed  the  roads  he  passed  along.  Yet  such 
was  his  knowledge  of  by-roads,  or  his  accuracy  at 
judging  the  distance  of  the  shelling,  or  possibly  just 
his  damned  luck,  he  came  through  night  after  night 
and  lost  neither  horse  nor  man. 

The  transport  driver's  life  at  best  of  times  is 
but  a  sordid  existence.  They  splash  round  amid 
a  sea  of  mud  and  water,  feeding  their  wet  and 
shivering  teams.     They  get  kicked  by  mules  and 


154       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

bitten  by  unappreciative  remounts.  They  go  to 
bed  at  dawn  and  rise  two  minutes  after  to  com- 
mence a  new  day;  they  are  chafied  by  the  men  in 
the  companies,  who  accuse  them  of  trying  to  avoid 
the  firing-Hne;  they  are  sworn  at  by  road  police- 
men, rebuked  by  company  officers,  accused  of 
steaHng  by  the  ordinary  rank  and  file,  and  damned 
effectively,  and  on  general  principles,  by  the  regi- 
ment as  a  whole.  Their  feet  are  always  wet; 
the  harness,  cracking  from  want  of  sufiicient 
dubbin,  tears  and  wounds  their  numbed  and  frozen 
fingers.  No  wonder  they  become  a  trifle  un- 
approachable and  misanthropic,  and  develop  into 
past  pluperfect  grand  masters  of  the  art  of  light 
and  breezy  badinage.  During  a  battle,  held  up 
for  long  hours  near  a  cross-road  recently  peppered 
by  the  Huns'  artillery,  and  liable  to  be  plastered 
again  at  any  minute;  when  the  roads  are  blocked 
by  reinforcements;  when  ambulance-waggons  sway 
bulkily  down  the  centre  of  the  fairway;  when 
panting,  steaming  ammunition  limbers  demand 
priority;  when  motor-cycles  ram  their  explosive 
forms  into  their  midst  ;  when  shell-holes  gape  in 
the  causeway;  when  shattered  equine  corpses, 
with  legs  stretched  heavenwards,  send  shudders 
through  their  steeds;  when  houses  blaze  alongside 
and  burning  timbers  flare  across  the  road;  when 
rifle  bullets  hum  and  shrapnel  bursts  overhead — 
their  occupation  is  certainly  not  one  to  covet.  Yet 
so  well  were  we,  in  the  Pompadours,  served  by  our 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  155 

''  first  line  "  that  even  during  our  worst  moments, 
it  was  never  necessary  to  open  an  iron  ration  for 
want  of  our  ordinary  meals. 

"  All  that  night  we  watched  the  streamers 
Steal  across  the  northern  sky." 

By  daylight  much  had  been  done,  and  our  two 
companies  had  some  sort  of  shelter.  Certainly  it 
was  not  much  to  boast  about;  in  one  place  an  old 
trench  had  been  adapted  and  improved,  but  for 
the  most  part  our  only  protection  lay  in  the  hastily 
dug  rabbit  scrapes,  which  had  been  scratched 
during  the  hours  of  darkness.  In  front  of  these 
was  a  field  of  fire  of  some  three  hundred  yards 
which  ought  to  have  made  good  shooting,  and 
somewhere,  in  the  hedges  and  trees  over  there, 
lurked  the  Bosches.  His  move  next:  we  wonder 
what  it  will  be?  Overhead  fly  the  planes:  "Ours 
or  theirs  ?"  Mostly  they  seem  to  be  hostile. 
One  hangs  motionless  directly  over  us,  no  doubt 
summing  up  the  situation,  boding  us  little  good  in 
the  hours  to  come. 

News  begins  to  filter  in.  The  Canadian  Cale- 
donians and  the  Assiniboias  have  made  a  charge. 
During  the  night,  when  we  were  digging  in,  they 
were  counter-attacking  the  enemy.  We  hear  of 
guns  lost  and  recaptured,  of  good  work  in  the  wood 
and  many  dead  Germans.  Of  our  own  casualties 
so  far,  nothing;  we  will  hear  soon  enough.  On 
our  right  the  Jocks  are  still  in  their  trenches, 


156       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

where  they  broke  the  left  of  the  German  attack  last 
night;  on  our  left,  the  Eastern  Brigade  is  linking  up. 
So  far  our  own  casualties  have  been  slight — two 
or  three  bullet  wounds  and  three  men  killed  by 
shrapnel.  It  is  the  lull  before  the  storm.  Mean- 
time we  dig  in  and  make  the  best  of  things.  The 
morning  passes  uneventfully:  bursts  of  rifle-fire 
at  intervals  on  our  left,  over  there  in  the  wood. 
There  is  little  shelling  on  our  front,  but  in  the  city 
they  must  be  having  a  hot  time.  High  over  our 
heads  we  hear  the  big  shells  roaring  on  their  way, 
to  fall  far  behind  us  amid  the  thick  clustered 
buildings.  There  is  something  conclusive  and 
emphatic  about  the  thud  of  a  large  shell  as  it 
hammers  its  way  home.  A  thundering  bang  that 
once  for  all  ends  all  argument.  It's  a  short  Hfe 
and  a  busy  one,  born  in  an  explosion,  and  ter- 
minating in  a  crack  of  doom. 

Everyone  was  merry  and  bright.  The  Germans 
had  broken  through;  we  didn't  know  how  far  they 
had  gone,  and,  for  all  we  knew,  might  by  now  be 
well  on  the  road  to  Calais  !  But,  on  our  part, 
we  were  all  right,  and  every  hour  made  our  trenches 
stronger. 

A  few  wounded  Turcos  were  found  in  dugouts; 
these  were  brought  in  and  had  their  hurts  dressed. 
Very  philosophic  they  were,  too,  as  they  lay  on 
the  blood-stained  straw  of  the  dressing-station, 
smoking  our  ration  cigarettes  with  Oriental  dignity 


THE  CITY  OF  DISTRESS  157 

and  stoicism.  So  passed  the  morning.  In  the 
afternoon  we  had  our  first  disaster.  We  could  not 
have  had  a  greater. 

The  Colonel,  anxious  to  ascertain  as  accurately 
as  possible  the  position  of  the  enemy  on  our 
immediate  front,  went  out  with  Major  Meldrum 
and  our  Buonaparte  of  Engineers,  Lieutenant 
Macpherson.  From  the  trench  they  advanced 
some  three  hundred  yards  to  where  a  ruined 
estaminet  offered  shelter  and  an  opportunity  for 
observing.  On  looking  through  the  sashless  back 
window,  they  found  the  ground  immediately 
behind  alive  with  the  enemy.  Germans  lined  the 
hedge  stretching  away  on  either  side  of  them. 
The  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  get  out  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Hurrying  from  the  building,  a  fusillade 
of  rifle-shots  greeted  them  from  the  hedge  on  either 
side,  and  the  Colonel  fell  mortally  wounded  in  a 
shell-hole.  From  our  first  beginning  he  had  looked 
after  the  battalion  with  watchful  care.  Our  best 
interests  he  had  ever  at  heart,  and  all  his  thoughts 
were  for  the  Pompadours.  During  the  early  days 
of  our  apprenticeship  in  Canada  and  England,  he 
had  handled  us  gently  and  skilfully  as  we  gradually 
felt  the  bit. 

It  was  like  some  slow,  sweet  evolution,  the 
systematic  formation  of  our  character  as  a  battalion. 
Gathered  from  the  mountains,  forests,  the  rivers, 
and  the  seashore,  he  found  us,  the  integral  portions 


158       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEKS  FIELDS 

collected  from  several  different  units,  and  patiently 
and  with  infinite  pains  he  welded  us  into  shape. 
The  command  of  the  battalion  was  now  in  the 
hands  of  Major  Meldrum,  and  no  better  opportunity 
could  have  been  selected  for  the  exercise  of  his 
tireless  zeal  and  initiative. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE 

It  was  nightfall  before  the  Colonel  could  be  brought 
in.  For  five  hours  he  had  lain  in  the  muddy 
bottom  of  a  shell-hole  within  fifty  paces  of  the 
Germans,  receiving  such  rude  care  as  it  was  possible 
to  give  him,  silent  and  uncomplaining.  He  left 
us  in  the  morning,  departing  from  Battalion  Head- 
quarters for  the  last  time  to  go  on  a  longer 
journey. 

The  Major,  Captain  Grosvenor,  and  the  Medical 
Ofhcer  had  lain  down  for  a  few  minutes  just  before 
the  dawn.  The  time,  to  be  exact,  was  precisely 
4  a.m.  when  the  ball  opened — the  long-drawn, 
ceaseless  roar  of  a  continuous  bombardment.  The 
headquarters  staff,  gathered  outside  the  low  farm 
buildings,  found  a  precarious  shelter,  praying  that 
that  particular  spot  might  be  unmarked  on  the 
German  artillery  maps;  if  not,  it  was  merely  a 
matter  of  time  when  their  crazy  shelter  would  go 
up  in  smoke  as  the  farms  around  them  were  already 
doing.  One  after  another  the  German  guns  found 
the  neighbouring  houses;  each  in  succession  was 
plastered  and  deleted  from  the  landscape  !     Two 

159  . 


160       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

hundred  yards  along  the  road,  Shattered  Shelters 
was  gradually  sliding  into  the  valley  amid  a 
debris  of  falling  rafters,  tiles,  and  plaster.  All 
round  the  headquarters  brass-nosed  monsters  were 
falling  with  thunderous  impact,  throwing  the  soil 
broadcast  as  they  rent  their  craters  in  earth. 
The  clamour  was  uninterrupted  and  incessant. 
Aloft  the  aeroplanes,  silent  and  watchful  as  vul- 
tures, floated  like  gigantic  birds  of  ill-omen,  drop- 
ping their  signal  lights.  The  Germans  had  surely 
a  pretty  wit  when  they  called  them  doves !  Perhaps 
they  were  thinking  of  Noah,  who,  after  all,  was 
responsible  for  the  first  successful  air  reconnais- 
sance. .  .  . 

Our  trenches  were  sufiering  badly;  from  time  to 
time  news  came  to  us  of  casualties :  Captain  Hard- 
wick  was  already  down,  badly  hit ;  several  men  were 
wounded.  And  now  the  German  artillery  hfted; 
down  below  us  on  the  lower  slopes  and  round  the 
devoted  village  of  St.  Jacques  they  were  getting  it 
hot.  The  cross-roads  and  the  main  roads  sufiered 
most,  for  there  the  tornado  of  flying  iron  and  shrap- 
nel was  at  its  height.  And  now,  amid  the  loud  roar 
of  artillery-fire,  came  the  persistent  patter  of  the 
rifles  and  machine-guns,  and  insidiously  there  swept 
upon  us  the  yellow  crawling  pestilential  haze  that 
dried  our  throats  and  parched  our  mouths,  and 
caused  our  very  souls  to  shrivel.  The  gas  floated 
down  among  us. 

In  the  front  line  the  three  companies  waited 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  161 

patiently  for  their  turn  to  come.  The  German 
aeroplanes  had  done  their  work  effectively,  for 
already  the  guns  had  found  out  our  trenches  with 
some  success.  Just  below  us,  on  the  forward  slope 
of  the  ridge,  the  Jocks  were  catching  it  badly. 
With  their  trenches  blown  to  pieces,  suffocated  by 
the  gas  and  torn  with  shrapnel,  they  still  held 
on.  Small  parties  of  wounded  struggled  back  to 
the  dressing-station;  but  still  the  rest  remained, 
driving  back  the  German  infantry  who  strove  to 
storm  their  trenches. 

As  the  morning  wore  on,  the  Germans  launched 
more  attacks;  more  gas  and  more  shells;  but  the 
men  in  the  trenches  on  our  right  were  of  a  race  as 
stubborn  as  their  own,  and  fell  back  slowly,  fighting 
all  the  way. 

Suddenly  the  hedge  that  fronted  the  Pompa- 
dours' trench  across  three  hundred  yards  of  open 
was  alive  with  grey-blue  figures. 

''  Here  they  come !"  shouted  Major  Hill. 
*'  Rapid  independent !     Give  them  hell !" 

Across  the  open  space  the  attack  came,  not  in 
dense  masses  as  we  had  been  led  to  expect,  but 
line  on  line,  like  waves  in  an  advancing  flood. 
No  wild  charge  of  cheering  warriors,  and  without 
the  glorious  rush  of  battle,  they  came  on  methodi- 
cally and  silently,  as  men  with  a  duty  to  be  per- 
formed in  which  they  took  small  delight.  It  was 
a  magnificent  example  of  their  discipline. 

Every  man  had  his  greatcoat  rolled  up ;  we  saw 

U 


162       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

their  water-bottles  and  their  haversacks  hanging 
as  if  on  parade.     Across  the  fields  they  stumbled 
forward,  running  clumsily  with  their  fat  legs  and 
ridiculous  boots.     And  behind  each  line  we  saw 
their  officers  urging  them  on.     From  the  trench 
our  rifles  cracked  and  machine-guns  spat;  before 
the  hail  of  bullets  the  Germans  fell.     Soon  the 
field  was  spotted  with  fallen  figures,  some  lying 
still,  others  trying  to  crawl  away.     But  still  they 
came  on.     Now  we  could  see  their  features  and 
count  the  buttons  on  their  tunics  as  they  lumbered 
forward.     Down    the    road    towards    our    lines, 
blowing  what,  presumably,  was  the  charge,  came 
a  German  bugler.     A  platoon  of  the  Pompadours 
must  have  hit  the  life  out  of  him  with  a  splash  of 
rifle-bullets.     Now  the  wave  lapped  against  the 
edge  of   our  trench.      Suddenly    a    fat    German, 
with  bulging  eyes,   recognizing  death  staring  at 
him  across  the  mud-bank,  turned  to  fly.     He  got 
his  attack  of  cold  feet  too  late.     A  bullet  caught 
him  on  the  buckle  of  his  waistbelt,  causing  his 
equipment  to  fly  apart  as  it  passed  onwards  on 
its  way.     A  huge  red-headed  warrior,  his  mouth 
open  and  breathing  hard  from  running,   got  it 
square  between  the  eyebrows;  the  force  of  the  rush 
carried  him  onward  to  fall  against  the  parapet, 
where  he  lay,  the  back  blown  out  of  his  head  and 
with  a  look  of  mild  surprise  upon  his  face.     One  or 
two  rushed  the  parapet,  but  they  were  not  fighters, 
and  fell  Hke  sheep  on  the  points  of  our  bayonets. 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  163 

The  attack  had  failed  for  the  moment,  but  at  any 
time  it  might  be  renewed. 

At  headquarters  the  Major  waited  for  news. 
The  signal-wires  were  cut;  wiremen,  sent  out  to 
repair  them,  never  returned.  Orderlies  despatched 
with  messages  turned  up  days  after  in  base  hospitals 
badly  wounded,  or  died  before  delivering  their 
missives.  The  thatched  roof  of  the  orderly-room 
was  burning  ;  the  end  of  the  low  house,  hit  by  a 
salvo,  tottered  and  fell  with  a  crash,  and  the  Major 
and  the  Adjutant  moved  into  the  medical  dressing- 
room  in  search  of  healthier  quarters.  The  attack 
on  our  immediate  front  had  failed  for  the  moment, 
but  to  the  right  the  Highlanders,  after  two  days' 
furious  fighting,  were  gradually  being  driven  back. 
Outside  the  building  the  bullets  pattered  on  the 
walls  like  hail.  On  the  other  side,  the  Germans 
in  a  wood  to  our  left  had  turned  a  machine-gun 
on  the  dressing-station  door,  and  repeated  flights 
of  bullets  flicked  inside,  knocking  the  plaster  from 
the  walls,  and  rattled  on  the  brick  floor.  The 
Major  was  writing  a  report  of  the  situation,  pausing 
from  time  to  time  to  ask  the  Adjutant,  who, 
sheltering  behind  the  side  of  the  window,  gazed 
into  the  valley  below,  if  there  was  any  sign  of 
reinforcements. 

From  the  front  line  came  a  message  from  Major 
Hill:  ''Evening's  infantry  attack  repulsed.  We 
are  now  being  shelled  heavily.  Our  casualties 
heavy.     We  are  holding  on." 


164       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

The  room  was  filled  with  dying  and  badly 
wounded  men;  trampled  straw  and  dirty  dressings 
lay  about  in  pools  of  blood.  The  air,  rank  with 
the  fumes  of  gas,  was  thick  with  the  dust  of  flying 
plaster  and  broken  brick,  and  stifling  with  the 
smoke  from  the  burning  thatch. 

So  much  for  the  pomp  and  panoply  of  war. 
In  the  mess  of  modern  warfare  there  are  few 
reminders  of  the  majesty  of  ancient  days,  except 
the  spirit  of  the  men.  In  the  dressing-station  the 
mess  was  at  its  worst,  and  yet  in  the  stench  of 
that  foul  atmosphere,  reeking  with  a  host  of 
horrors,  with  the  earth  trembling  and  the  roar  of 
battle  all  around,  the  wounded,  lying  with  the 
dead,  made  no  complaint. 

"  Any  sign  of  reinforcements,  Grosvenor  V 
asked  the  Major.  He  and  the  Adjutant  were 
splendid.  Two  nights  of  sleepless  vigilance  had 
worn  new  lines  on  their  faces;  they  were  dirty 
and  unshaven,  but  still  preserved  their  air  of 
cheerful  confidence.  The  Adjutant,  watching  the 
high-road  leading  up  from  the  city,  and  seeing 
no  sign  of  help,  answered  in  the  negative.  The 
Medical  Officer,  remembering  a  nursery  story — it 
is  strange  how  these  things  come  to  one — mur- 
mured : 

''  Sister  Ann,  Sister  Ann,  do  you  see  anybody 
coming  ?" 

In  the  front  line  things  were  rapidly  going  from 
bad  to  worse.     The  German  artillery  had  again 


THE  EOAR  OF  BATTLE  165 

taken  up  the  tune,  pounding  the  flimsy  earthwork 
and  bringing  death  to  its  occupants.  Again  the 
storm  hfted,  and  again  the  blue-grey  uniforms 
swarmed  across  the  intervening  ground  to  meet 
the  thin  but  waiting  hne  of  khaki. 

A  wounded  Pompadour  arrived  at  headquarters, 
blood  streaming  from  a  cut  on  his  forehead. 
''  The  Germans  are  in  our  trenches."  As  he 
delivered  the  message,  the  machine-gun,  waiting  in 
the  wood,  caught  him  on  its  whirring  blast  and 
crumpled  him  up  on  the  threshold.  Crash  !  A 
shell  hit  the  outside  wall  with  thundering  impact. 
Outside,  remnants  of  the  Pompadours  and  High- 
landers were  retiring,  taking  what  cover  they 
could,  loading  magazines  and  firing  coolly  and 
carefully. 

The  wounded  were  got  out,  as  many  as  could 
limp  and  hobble;  others  were  hastily  borne  away 
on  stretchers ;  the  remainder,  who  were  dying,  were 
placed  in  dugouts  so  as  to  escape  the  worse  death 
from  burning. 

The  Pompadours  took  up  a  new  line,  all  that 
was  left  of  them.  The  Adjutant,  as  he  and  the 
Major  moved  back  along  the  ridge,  remarked: 
''  This  is  my  aunt's  birthday.  I  wonder  how, the 
old  lady's  spending  it  ?" 

"  I  hope  more  peacefully  than  we  are,"  replied 
the  Major.     ''  Look  at  the  Doctor." 

The  gentleman  in  question  was  executing  a 
strategic  retrograde  movement  across  the  fields. 


166       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

taking  advantage  of  every  bit  of  cover  that  appeared 
convenient  in  the  shape  of  hedges  and  dead  ground. 
With  him  went  his  stretcher-bearers,  sluggishly 
meandering  across  country.  The  fields  across 
which  they  struggled  were  heavily  shelled,  but 
luck  was  with  the  medical  profession,  and  the 
party  disappeared  finally  wdth  a  funereal  dignity 
behind  some  buildings. 

The  remaining  company  of  the  regiment,  perched 
in  solitary  magnificence  in  their  fortified  position 
on  the  ridge,  had  also  not  had  things  all  their  own 
way.  At  the  beginning  of  the  fuss  they  mustered 
a  fighting  strength  of  close  on  two  hundred.  As 
with  the  other  companies,  they  suffered  from  an 
alternation  of  shelling  and  infantry  attacks,  until, 
with  scarce  two  dozen  left  and  all  their  officers 
gone,  the  shattered  remnant  fell  back  and  joined 
the  ranks  of  the  battalion  on  the  right.  Here 
were  the  men  of  the  plains,  the  farmers  from  the 
wheatlands,  gallantly  maintaining  themselves 
against  the  various  types  of  German  frightfulness 
that  seethed  on  every  side  of  them.  The  Prairie 
Eifles  stuck  to  their  ground  these  days  and  yielded 
not  an  inch. 

By  this  time  the  much-needed  reinforcements 
were  coming  up.  The  Quartermaster,  standing  in 
the  doorway  of  his  store  on  the  main  street  at 
Malmartre,  saw  regiment  after  regiment  swing  by. 

Blocked  by  congested  traffic,  a  regiment  halted, 
and  the  Quartermaster  recognized  by  their  bonnets 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  167 

that  they  were  brother  Scots.     The  Glasgow  High- 
landers !     The  Quartermaster  strolled  forward. 

''Which  battalion?"  he  asked  a  youthful 
subaltern. 

''  The  second.  We're  going  on  up  there  to  re- 
inforce." He  pointed  in  a  direction  beyond  the 
city.  "  We  make  a  counter-attack  at  3  p.m. 
You'd  better  come  and  watch  us." 

The  Quartermaster  regretted  that  a  previous 
engagement  with  the  transport  forbade  him;  he 
also  was  going  that  way,  but  it  would  be  later  in 
the  evening. 

Then  there  were  battalions  of  Indian  troops. 
Tall,  turbaned,  coloured  warriors,  fine-featured, 
and  with  eyes  like  sheepdogs.  They  wore  their 
shirt-tails  flapping  in  the  breeze  as  they  stalked 
forward  with  impressive  dignity.  Then  came 
small,  squat  soldiers,  bustling  forward,  their  eyes 
glistening  in  anticipation,  and  their  faces  below 
their  broad-brimmed  hats  reminding  the  Quarter- 
master of  our  own  Si  wash  Indians.  These  were 
the  Gurkhas.  Licking  their  lips  in  anticipation, 
they  hustled  past,  loosening  their  kukris  in  their 
sheaths. 

That  evening  the  Quartermaster  and  the  trans- 
port officer  had  some  difficulty  in  following  the 
movements  of  the  battalion.  The  way  by  the  north 
end  of  the  town,  past  Eternity  Corner  and  De- 
struction Bridge,  was  hardly  a  health  resort. 
However,  the  battalion  had  to  be  fed;  others  might 


68        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

fail,  but  not  the  lean  and  hungry   transport  or 
The  Mackintosh. 

''  Come  here,  Mac,  and  talk  to  the  long  faces  in 
Gaelic;  it  soothes  them,"  said  the  transport  officer, 
as  the  horses  commenced  to  dance  a  cake-walk 
into  the  ditch.  At  the  moment  the  road  was 
blocked,  as  other  transport  waited  fretfully  while 
the  Bosche  lashed  Eternity  Corner  with  a  hail  of 
metal. 

It  was  dark  with  a  blackness  that  struck  the 
Quartermaster  as  being  like  the  inside  of  a  cofl&n, 
so  inky  that  even  his  horses'  ears  and  withers 
could  not  be  seen.  The  men  dismounted,  stood 
beside  their  horses,  endeavouring  to  quiet  their 
nervous  and  excited  fidgeting. 

"  This  waiting  is  certainly  the  devil,"  remarked 
the  Quartermaster,  sucking  thoughtfully  at  his  pipe. 
''  If  the  Hun  only  lengthened  his  range,  he'd  get 
a  good  bagful."  The  Quartermaster  was  certainly 
right;  in  the  crush  of  nervous  horses  and  restless 
mules,  extrication  would  have  been  impossible. 
Two  abreast  they  were  packed,  their  axles  touching 
in  the  centre  of  the  narrow  road. 

''  Look  out,  Mac;  we'll  be  off  in  a  moment: 
the  Highlanders  are  taking  a  chance.  Stand 
to,  Pompadours.  Prepare  to  mount.  Mount !" 
shouted  the  transport  officer.  They  were  off  down 
a  small  incline  and  round  the  blasted  corner,  the 
horses  travelling  far  beyond  the  schedule  speed 
and  the  limbers  swaying  behind  like  sledges  over 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  169 

glare  ice.  Once  past  the  corner  they  slackened  up, 
and  through  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where 
recently  had  been  the  transport  lines  and  Quarter- 
master's store,  they  jingled  at  a  rapid  trot.  Up 
the  road,  where  fallen  trees  half  blocked  the  fair- 
way and  dead  horses  occupied  the  ditches  in  stiff 
and  ghastly  attitudes.  Then  to  the  right,  where 
in  an  open  field  the  transport  ofiicer  halted  them. 
Here  they  were  comparatively  safe,  as  there  were 
no  churches  near,  and  no  steeple  to  attract  the 
Hun  shells  like  moths  to  a  candle. 

Here  the  transport  officer  and  the  Quartermaster 
left  the  waggons  while  they  set  out  to  find  the 
battahon.  The  night  was  young,  but  though  it 
still  wanted  some  hours  until  dawn,  no  time  could 
be  wasted.  Through  St.  Michel  the  two  non- 
combatants  hurried  to  the  village  of  Boscap. 
Here  they  found  the  Medical  Officer,  standing  in 
the  light  of  an  open  doorway. 

''  Whither  away  ?"  he  asked. 

In  reply  to  this  question,  he  related  how  earlier 
in  the  day  he  had  got  out  rather  hastily  from  the 
particularly  hot  corner  which  at  that  time  was 
rapidly  ceasing  to  be  Battalion  Headquarters. 

"'You'd  better  ask  at  Brigade  Headquarters: 
they  are  next  door.  As  far  as  I  can  find  out,  the 
battalion  has  taken  to  the  hills.  I've  tried  to  find 
them  and  failed." 

Inside,  Ainslie  and  Theophilus  Goodchild,  the 
two  Stafi  Captains,  greeted  them. 


170       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''  Where's  the  General  ?"  asked  the  transport 
officer,  who  seldom  spoke  to  anyone  with  less  than 
the  crossed  batons  on  his  shoulders. 

''  On  the  hill  in  the  battle  headquarters." 

From  the  two  hardworked  but  still  cheerful  Stafi 
Officers,  they  obtained  a  rapid  sketch  of  the 
progress  of  events,  and  were  out  again  on  the 
road. 

*'  I'm  going  to  report  Theophilus  for  neglect  of 
duty.  That's  the  second  time  this  evening  I've 
asked  him  for  a  drink,  and  that's  the  second  time 
he's  fallen  down,"  the  Medical  Officer  remarked. 

Through  Boscap  they  went,  where  houses  on 
each  side  of  the  street  burnt  and  lighted  up  the 
scene  of  devastation.  The  Germans  were  still 
shelling  in  a  haphazard  and  desultory  fashion,  if 
such  a  languid  description  could  apply  to  the 
series  of  detonations  that  shook  the  night  behind 
them. 

''  Hurry  over  this  spot,"  said  the  Medical  Officer 
as  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  stamped-out  village, 
where  the  road  forked. 

It  was  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and  the  Quarter- 
master and  transport  officer  waged  a  mighty 
warfare  of  words  as  to  their  most  suitable  way. 
The  road  to  the  left  led  onwards  towards  where 
the  German  lights  pierced  the  darkness  and 
upwards  to  the  village  of  St.  Jacques.  To  the 
right  the  way  seemed  lost  in  obscurity. 

*'  I   don't   mind   you   two   starting  a   debating 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  171 

society,  but  I  wish  you'd  choose  a  healthier  loca- 
tion," remarked  the  Medical  Officer  impatiently. 
''  Do  you  know,  there's  been  a  battle  going  on  for 
two  and  a  half  days,  and  I've  had  no  sleep  ?" 

The  Quartermaster  and  the  transport  officer 
turned  to  the  Medical  Officer  to  settle  the  dispute. 
''  The  road  to  the  right  leads  to  our  old  head- 
quarters. There's  nothing  there;  the  Bosches 
hammered  it  flat  this  afternoon.  You  may  find 
some  fragments  of  my  kit  there  if  you  care  to  have 
a  look,"  he  replied. 

''  The  road  to  the  left  goes  to  St.  Jacques;  we 
still  hold  that,"  said  the  lean  and  Hssom  one. 

''  Do  we  ?"  The  Medical  Officer  raised  his  eye- 
brows.    "  What  will  you  bet  ?" 

"  Well,  we  did  this  morning,"  said  the  transport 
officer. 

"  That's  nothing.  By  to-morrow  we'll  probably 
be  blown  out  of  Flanders,"  remarked  the  Quarter- 
master cheerfully. 

''  Did  you  ask  at  the  Brigade  who  held  St. 
Jacques  ?"  came  the  query  from  the  transport 
officer. 

"  Ask  !  Why,  I  asked  for  a  drink,  and  they 
hadn't  anything."  The  Medical  Officer  sat  down 
beside  two  of  his  stretcher-bearers  who  had  ac- 
companied him.  ''  Well,  I  paid  my  life-insurance 
money  four  days  ago,  and,  in  any  case,  I've  got 
two  chaps  here  to  carry  me  down  if  I'm  hit.  Wake 
me  up  when  you've  finished  the  argument." 


172       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

The  Quartermaster  wanted  to  go  to  the  right, 
the  transport  officer  to  the  left. 

''  For  Heaven's  sake,  flip  a  coin,"  murmured 
the  Medical  Officer. 

So  a  coin  was  tossed,  and  in  the  light  of  a  burning 
building  it  turned  up  a  tail.  It  was  a  French 
halfpenny;  the  Doctor  swooped  down  on  it  and 
pocketed  it  for  luck. 

The  road  to  St.  Jacques  wound  easily  upwards 
between  two  rows  of  poplars ;  it  was  strangely  silent. 
A  few  hundred  yards  to  the  left  of  it  the  German 
flares  were  falling.  For  upwards  of  a  mile  the  trans- 
port officer  bustled  on  ahead;  suddenly  he  paused. 

"  What  the  dickens  is  this  ?"  His  question 
broke  the  silence.  A  German  star-shell  revealed 
two  large  trees  fallen  across  the  road,  their  trunks 
effectively  stopping  all  traffic.  Beyond  were  two 
motor-ambulances,  one  end  on  to  the  obstruction, 
into  which  it  had  crashed  running  down  the  road 
on  its  return  journey.  The  other  motor-ambulance 
was  jammed  across  the  road.  On  the  ground  lay 
the  bodies  of  four  Ked  Cross  men.  All  dead. 
The  waggons  were  empty. 

''  Took  the  wrong  road,  I  suppose,  and  got 
caught  by  the  falling  tree  in  trying  to  get  out," 
was  the  Doctor's  diagnosis. 

''  All  killed  by  bullets,  probably  machine-guns." 

Farther  up  the  road  were  the  bodies  of  three 
dead  Germans,  one  with  a  machine-gun  beside 
him.     Thus  the  entire  tragedy  was  revealed.     The 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  173 

one  waggon  speeding  uphill  found  itself  under  fire 
from  the  German  lines,  and,  turning,  ran  for  it, 
pausing  just  long  enough  to  warn  its  fellow  who 
was  following.  The  fallen  trees,  hit  by  an  unlucky 
shot,  barred  the  way  for  both,  and  an  advanced 
party  of  Germans  completed  the  business  by 
shooting  down  the  drivers.  The  Germans  coming 
up  to  see  the  result  of  their  shooting  were  caught 
by  the  avenging  bullets  of  our  own  men,  and  died 
beside  their  victims. 

"  Really,  these  Germans  give  me  a  pain;  it's 
certainly  not  playing  the  game  shooting  Red  Cross 
men,"  announced  the  transport  officer. 

''  You're  perfectly  right,"  said  the  Medical 
Officer.    *'  I  wish  you'd  go  over  and  tell  them  so." 

''  Well,  they  carry  up  their  own  machine-guns 
in  ambulance  waggons,"  the  Quartermaster  put 
in.  ''I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  play  them  at 
their  own  game." 

''  Quite  right,  Mac.  You'd  cook  and  eat  them,  I 
know,  like  your  ancestors  did,"  said  the  transport 
officer. 

''  They've  probably  got  a  machine-gun  turned 
on  us  now,  so  for  Heaven's  sake  shut  up  and  let's 
get  on."  The  Quartermaster  was  proud  of  his 
ancestry  and  objected  to  the  transport  officer's 
ill-timed  remarks. 

''  I  know  we're  lost,  but  this  is  Little  WilHe's 
picnic,  so  I'm  hanged  if  I  butt  in."  The  Medical 
Officer  was  becoming  a  trifle  bored 


174       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

Again  they  started,  the  transport  officer,  as 
before,  leading — racing  on  in  front  hke  an  ex- 
pectant lurcher.  In  the  darkness  the  houses  of 
St.  Jacques  appeared  faintly  in  front  of  them. 

''  Where  are  we  going,  sir  ?"  said  one  of  the 
attendant  stretcher-bearers  to  the  Doctor. 

''  To  Berlin,  I  think,  under  a  prisoners'  guard; 
but  you'd  better  ask  Mr.  Cousins." 

''  But  that's  St.  Jacques,  isn't  it  ?"  The 
stretcher-bearer  was  becoming  insistent. 

*'  It  was  the  last  time  I  travelled  this  way," 
answered  the  Medical  Officer. 

"  But  the  Germans  took  St.  Jacques  this  after- 
noon," the  stretcher-bearer  objected. 

"  Well,  why  the  blue  blazing  blankety  Hades 
didn't  you  say  so  before  ?"  the  Medical  Officer 
demanded  in  a  tone  of  extra  special  asperity. 

They  were  now  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
village  as  the  Doctor  vented  the  full  venom  of  his 
wrath  on  the  head  of  the  devoted  stretcher-bearer. 
At  this  announcement  even  the  transport  officer 
had  paused  in  his  onward  ffight.  A  star-shell 
soared  up  from  the  village,  reveahng  the  figure  of  a 
sentry  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road — a 
German  sentry.  The  transport  officer  crawled 
hurriedly  into  the  ditch.  The  Quartermaster  and 
the  Doctor  and  the  two  medical  orderlies  were 
already  there. 

The  Medical  Officer  was  right:  the  Pompadours 
had  taken  to  the  hills,  or,  rather,  were  still  on  the 


THE  ROAR  OF  BATTLE  175 

ridge.  Mixed  in  with  them  were  sundry  waifs  and 
strays  from  other  units,  and  near  by  two  other 
Western  regiments  still  maintained  themselves  in 
their  trenches.  Imperial  units  shared  their  hastily 
constructed  defences  with  them,  repelling  every 
effort  of  the  enemy  to  dislodge  them.  Everyone 
was  in  the  line — batmen,  pioneers,  orderly-room 
staff,  even  those  manufacturers  of  harmony  who 
sought  a  refuge  in  the  band  to  escape  the  uncer- 
tainty in  the  trenches,  were  in  the  battle  front  and 
bearing  themselves  right  nobly. 

Headquarters  was  in  a  ditch,  back  of  the  firing- 
line,  and  there  the  Major  and  the  Adjutant  gradu- 
ally got  in  touch  with  the  scattered  remnants  of 
the  regiment. 

Down  in  the  village  of  Boscap  the  Medical  Officer 
had  his  dressing-station.  Thither  he  returned, 
accompanied  by  the  Quartermaster,  while  the 
transport  officer,  having  nosed  out  the  position  of 
the  battalion,  proceeded  to  feed  them. 

Of  all  places  during  a  modern  battle,  a  modern 
dressing-station  is  the  spot  least  likely  to  arouse 
in  anyone  the  spirit  of  martial  ardour.  A  clientele 
derived  from  the  turmoil  of  shot  and  shell  is  liable 
at  times  to  show  signs  of  alarm  and  despondency, 
and  a  man  with  a  bullet  in  him  is  not  always  the 
most  cheerful  of  companions.  Thus  they  come  to 
the  dressing-station,  a  cellar  gaping  amid  the  ruins 
of  a  wrecked  farm-house;  a  dugout  under  the  lea 
of  a  wall;  occasionally,  when  times  are  still  more 


176       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

strenuous,  a  haystack  or  a  ditch.  On  the  present 
occasion  the  Medical  Officer  entertained  the 
Quartermaster  in  an  estaminet.  To  facihtate 
matters,  a  window-sash  had  been  kicked  out,  and 
through  this  opening,  stretchers  with  their  bleeding 
burdens  were  passed  from  time  to  time.  Through 
the  main  door  the  more  slightly  wounded  came. 
The  room,  lighted  by  candles  stuck  in  empty 
bottles  or  fixed  to  the  mantelpiece  in  pools  of  wax, 
was  eloquent  with  the  new  use  to  which  it  had  been 
brought.  The  bar  was  piled  high  with  bandages 
and  first-aid  dressings,  bottles  containing  iodine, 
and  rolls  of  cotton- wool.  The  floor  was  splashed 
with  mud  and  dirt,  pools  of  blood,  and  blood- 
stained clothing  lay  about  amid  a  profusion  of 
dirty  bandages  and  gory  dressings.  The  wounded 
lay  along  the  wall,  uncomplaining  but  grumbling. 
They  did  not  appear  to  mind  their  bodily  ills  or 
injuries,  but  were  full  of  criticisms  and  remarks 
concerning  the  conduct  of  afiairs  and  the  progress 
of  the  engagement.  The  air  was  thick  with  a 
profusion  of  aromas,  the  smell  of  explosives  and 
stale  humanity,  the  pungency  of  antiseptics,  and 
through  it  all  the  irritation  of  the  gas. 

''  Do  you  think  you'll  ever  be  able  to  taste 
anything  again.  Doctor  ?"  asked  the  Quarter- 
master as  he  seated  himself  on  a  broken-bottomed 
chair  in  the  midst  of  the  mess. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  answered  the  Medical  Officer,  as, 
with  his  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  displaying  a  pair 


THE  EOAR  OF  BATTLE  177 

of  gory  arms,  he  adjusted  a  bandage  round  the 
head  of  a  wounded  man.  ''  I've  done  my  best, 
but  at  present  rum,  bully  beef,  tobacco,  and  honey, 
all  taste  the  same  to  me." 

''Oh,  you  got  the  honey  all  right,  did  you  ?  I 
thought  you  might  find  it  come  in  useful." 

"  The  best  yet,  Mac.  Old  Highland  Glory  there 
has  been  feeding  all  the  wounded  on  it.  They 
like  it." 

The  Quartermaster  surveyed  the  mess,  and 
smoked  in  silence.     Outside  a  party  halted. 

"  See  what  that  is,"  said  the  Medical  Officer, 
addressing  a  stretcher-bearer. 

"  Stretcher  case,  sir." 

''  Tell  them  to  shove  it  in  through  the  window. 
Here,  put  this  man  into  the  next  room  and  get 
ready  to  put  all  the  wounded  outside;  the  ambu- 
lance waggons  should  be  here  any  time.  If  they 
don't  hurry  it  will  be  daylight." 

Through  the  window  came  a  stretcher. 

"  Hullo,  sir,  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  again," 
said  the  wounded  man  to  the  Quartermaster.  It 
was  the  subaltern  of  the  Glasgow  Highlanders. 
"  Please  give  me  a  cigarette;  I've  smoked  all  my 
own." 

The  Medical  Officer  handed  him  his  case  and 
examined  the  damage,  while  the  Highlander 
smoked  in  silence  and  watched  his  face. 

"  Nasty  smash,  Doctor  ?     Foot  gone,  I  think. 

How  long  will  it  be  until  I'm  fit  again  ?" 

12 


178       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?"  asked  the  Medical 
Officer,  as  he  removed  the  red  soaked  sock  and 
puttee,  and  cut  away  the  remnants  of  a  boot. 

"We  counter-attacked  at  3;  my  Captain  got 
it  right  away  through  the  head,  and  I  was  laid 
out  by  a  piece  of  shell  almost  at  once."  Then, 
turning  to  the  Quartermaster,  ''  You  certainly 
missed  it;  our  chaps  did  awfully  well.'' 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DOINGS  OF  SOME  DETAILS 

At  intervals  during  the  battle  the  Medical  Officer 
wandered  in  to  see  how  things  were  going  on  at 
Brigade  Headquarters,  and  to  obtain  news.  Re- 
turning in  the  afternoon  from  one  such  visit,  he 
was  both  astonished  and  enraged  to  find  Private 
McMutchkin,  who  had  recently  been  attached  to 
the  stretcher-bearers,  in  a  high  state  of  alcoholic 
inebriety. 

''  Sergeant  Bowden,  how  did  the  War-horse  get 
into  that  horrible  condition  ?" 

"  They  found  a  barrel  of  wine  in  the  room  there." 
The  sergeant  indicated  the  door  leading  to  the 
back  of  the  estaminet. 

The  Medical  Officer,  in  a  state  of  high  dudgeon, 
stalked  into  the  room  at  the  rear.  As  he  did  so  he 
encountered  Private  McSpeldron,  who  discreetly 
hid  a  mess-tin  full  of  red  liquid  behind  his  person. 

''Where's  this  barrel  of  wine,  McSpeldron?" 
the  Medical  Officer  demanded. 

"  Here,  sir;  in  this  very  room,  sir,"  answered  the 
polite  Highlander. 

In  the  room  was  not  one  but  two  barrels.     The 

179 


180       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

Medical  Officer  turned  the  taps,  and  out  streamed 
the  blood-red  liquid.  It  flowed  over  the  tiled 
floor  and  ran  through  the  doorway  into  the  dressing- 
room  in  front,  eddying  into  corners,  and  bearing 
on  its  ruby  surface  wisps  of  straw  and  flakes  of 
cotton-wool.  It  was  as  though  two  arteries  had 
burst,  and  the  Doctor,  standing  beside  the  streaming 
hogsheads,  made  no  eflort  to  stem  their  flowing 
life-stream. 

Private  McSpeldron,  otherwise  called  Highland 
Glory,  suddenly  appeared  in  the  doorway  and 
addressed  the  Doctor. 

''  If  you  please,  sir,  you're  wanted  in  the  front 
room;  there's  a  badly  wounded  man  coming  down 
the  road." 

The  Medical  Officer  left  the  wine-casks  and 
hurried  into  the  front  room,  while  Highland  Glory, 
taking  his  place,  deftly  turned  the  taps  in  the 
barrels  and  shut  ofl  the  flowing  red  wine. 

"  It's  a  peetiful  waste,"  he  remarked  to  himself. 
"  God  send  there's  a  wounded  man  on  the  road, 
or  the  Doctor '11  be  back  here  in  a  minute." 

Good  luck  favoured  the  Highlander,  for  at  the 
front  door  Captain  Ainshe  appeared. 

''  Hullo,  Doctor;  you  seem  pretty  well  over  the 
boot-tops  in  it,"  he  exclaimed,  surveying  the  red 
wine,  which  now  lay  to  the  depth  of  at  least  one 
inch  over  the  floor  of  the  estaminet, 

''  Yes,  but  it's  not  all  blood,  old  thing — only 
about  half  of  it." 


THE  DOINGS  OF  SOME  DETAILS  181 

''  What  do  you  think  of  this  ?"  said  Theophilus 
Goodchild,  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  the  Medical 
Officer's  visits  to  Brigade  Headquarters,  while  the 
battle  was  at  its  height. 

In  the  room  was  a  military  policeman  in  charge 
of  a  signaller.  The  signaller  had  been  detailed 
earlier  in  the  day  on  a  duty  which  took  him  far 
back  from  the  firing-line.  There  he  had  found 
a  badly  wounded  horse  which  had  bolted  along 
the  road,  and  gradually  weakening  from  loss  of 
blood,  lay  down  in  a  ditch  to  die.  The  signaller, 
to  shorten  its  suffering,  shot  it  through  the  head, 
and  was  promptly  arrested  by  the  law-abiding 
policeman  for  his  unorthodox  conduct  in  that  he 
had  discharged  fire-arms  far  behind  the  firing- 
line  ! 

The  incorruptible  minion  of  the  law  proceeded 
to  return  the  prisoner  to  his  unit,  deaf  to  his 
entreaties  that  his  work  was  there  and  had  to  be 
done,  and  up  the  road  they  came,  by  Eternity 
Corner  and  Destruction  Bridge,  almost  to  the 
firing-line.  Such  are  our  military  police.  Duty 
before  all  things. 

That  afternoon  the  Punjab  Division  attacked. 
From  Boscap  the  ground  fell  away  gently  to  rise 
again  in  a  sloping  ridge  that  extended  away  to  the 
north.  Here  in  a  wood,  and  amid  hedges  green 
with  the  first  colouring  of  spring,  lay  the  newly 
entrenched  Germans,  and  here  across  the  open 
the  Indians  advanced.     In  long  lines  extended  to 


182       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

several  paces  they  dashed  forward,  up  the  gradual 
slope  of  ground. 

In  the  bright  warm  sunshine,  with  spring 
bursting  into  verdant  glory  on  every  side,  it  looked 
like  a  field-day,  but  as  the  rifles  spat  and  the 
machine-guns  spattered,  first  one  and  then  another 
dropped. 

Some  lay  where  they  fell,  others  struggled 
slowly  back  to  the  dressing-station,  and  still  the 
thin  khaki  line  went  onwards.  On  the  left  the 
French  were  attacking;  blue  and  a  flash  of  silver 
as  the  long  keen  bayonets  dashed  to  meet  the 
enemy. 

A  trifle  shy  and  somewhat  hesitatingly  the  little 
dusky  warriors  came  to  the  dressing-station  door. 
Perhaps  they  wondered  how  the  Canadians  would 
receive  them,  and  remembering  a  certain  Koma- 
gatu  Maru  incident,  expected  that  a  poll-tax 
might  be  charged.  No  exclusion  policy  was  in 
force  in  the  village  of  Boscap;  the  cheery  little 
Gurkhas  were  promptly  fed  and  had  their  wounds 
bound  up.  With  them  they  had  brought  their 
prisoners,  lengthy  Prussians  who  walked  delicately 
beside  their  captors,  eyeing  them  askance  and 
keeping  a  careful  watch  on  the  kukris  resting  in 
the  sheaths. 

There  were  wounded  among  the  prisoners,  and 
all  looked  weary  and  were  very  dirty.  During 
those  days  there  were  many  prisoners,  and  all 
seemed  pleased  that  as  far  as  they  were  concerned 


THE  DOINGS  OF  SOME  DETAILS  183 

the  matter  was  ended  so  happily.  They  were 
quiet  and  eager  to  obey,  showing  in  their  move- 
ments the  effect  of  an  iron-handed  discipHne. 
There  was  one:  he  was  an  officer  and  should 
have  known  better,  for  his  behaviour  was  most 
extraordinary;  he  spat  at  the  Medical  Officer, 
when  he  attempted  to  approach  him,  like  an  angry 
tom-cat,  in  a  manner  altogether  unbefitting  an 
officer  and  a  gentleman,  if  there  are  any  such  in 
the  Fatherland. 

The  War-horse  and  Highland  Glory  were  out 
following  up  the  attack,  binding  up  the  wounded 
in  the  open,  risking  a  hundred  deaths,  and  fright- 
ened to  return  to  the  dressing-station,  from  which 
they  had  been  driven  by  a  stream  of  vindictive 
mutterings  from  the  Medical  Officer. 

All  night  long  those  silent,  tireless,  and  now 
sober  Highlanders  laboured,  carrying  in  their 
wounded  burdens  and  ever  returning  for  more. 
Towards  midnight  they  brought  in  an  officer, 
one  of  the  Canadians,  whom  they  found  lying 
patiently,  silently  in  the  darkness,  unable  to 
move. 

"  Hullo,  Hume — you  here  ?"  said  the  Doctor, 
recognizing  a  friend.  ''  Where  is  he  hit  ? " — turning 
to  the  waiting  stretcher-bearer  as  he  saw  how  far 
the  tide  of  life  had  ebbed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  explained  the  War- 
horse  modestly,  as  he  wiped  his  dripping  forehead; 
''  he's  hit  in  the  back  low  down.     He's  so  weak 


184        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

he  can  hardly  talk;  he's  been  lying  out  for  two 
nights." 

There,  just  below  the  centre  of  the  backbone, 
was  the  little  puckered  blue  mark — a  tiny  hole 
through  which  a  spirit  was  to  make  its  escape. 
The  gentle  movement  that  had  revealed  the  scar 
roused  the  wounded  man. 

''  Hullo,  Doctor;  I'm  badly  hit,  I  fear." 

As  he  had  done  frequently  before,  the  Doctor 
lied,  lied  with  a  cheerful  smile,  to  hide  the  sorrow 
in  his  heart. 

''  Tell  me  why  it  is  I  can't  move  my  legs,  and 
why  my  feet  are  all  pins  and  needles." 

''  Shock — only  shock;  you'll  be  as  right  as  rain 
in  a  day  or  two." 

The  Doctor  turned  away.  In  a  corner  a  Gurkha 
had  torn  his  dressings  from  his  sightless  eyes;  he 
also  was  finding  out  the  truth — finding  that  the 
dark  night  in  which  he  lived  was  not  merely  caused 
by  a  bandage. 

Out  on  the  road  the  Doctor,  looking  up  to  the 
cloudless,  starry  night,  heartily  damned  the  war 
and  the  men  who  ordained  that  such  things 
could  be. 

Then  he  remembered  the  journey  up  in  the  train 
to  the  firing-line  two  short  months  ago,  and  there 
to  the  south  was  that  same  star  which  then  had 
shone  so  brightly,  and  which  Lieutenant  Hume 
had  called  his  own.  And  as  he  looked  he  saw  it  had 
lost  its  glory,  and  was  pale  with  a  faded  dimness. 


THE  DOINGS  OF  SOME  DETAILS  185 

Down  near  the  cross-roads,  by  the  village 
of  St.  Michel,  the  ambulance  waggons  were  being 
loaded  up  with  their  living  freight.  Dressing- 
stations  on  either  side  of  the  road  disgorged  their 
quota  of  sufferers.  Lying  along  the  roadside  on 
stretchers,  or  seated  with  their  backs  against  the 
walls  of  houses,  they  silently  waited  their  turn. 
Each  motor  ambulance  as  it  came  up  was  filled, 
and  doctors  and  orderlies  worked  like  stevedores, 
packing  each  with  its  cargo  of  humanity.  Lying 
and  sitting,  they  started  off  on  the  bumping 
journey  to  the  field  ambulances  and  clearing 
hospitals.  The  Quartermaster  and  Paymaster  of 
the  Pompadours  watched  the  scene  in  silence.  At 
the  cross-roads  a  stream  of  transport  coming  up 
the  main  road  was  turning  to  the  right.  Two 
motor  ambulances  were  coming  up  empty,  and 
two  returning  packed  with  wounded  men.  For 
the  moment  the  road  was  blocked  with  an  im- 
passable jamb  of  waggons,  horses,  and  men. 
Eight  in  the  midst  of  this  crush  of  packed  human- 
ity, screaming  through  the  night,  a  German  shell 
plumped.  Down  went  horses  and  men  together. 
The  scene  lighted  for  the  moment  by  the  bursting 
shell  was  plunged  again  in  inky  darkness,  from 
which  came  the  sounds  of  struggling  man  and 
horse  mixed  in  inextricable  confusion. 

The  concussion  of  the  shock  had  seated  both 
the  Quartermaster  and  the  Paymaster  side  by  side 
on  the  cobbles,  but  before  they  had  time  to  struggle 


186       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

to  their  feet,  stretcher-bearers  were  out,  bringing 
in  the  wounded  and  clearing  up  the  debris.  In 
this  the  transport  men  were  not  second  to  the 
medical  services.  Dead  and  dying  horses  were 
cut  loose,  and  the  transport  moved  out  of  those 
infernal  cross- ways. 

Now  one  of  the  wrecked  ambulance  waggons 
started  to  burn,  its  gasoline  tank  lighted  by  the 
bursting  shell.  The  glow  of  the  blazing  spirit 
illumined  the  scene  in  lurid  detail:  the  wounded 
lying  where  they  had  been  flung  by  the  explosion, 
the  horses  strugghng  to  rise,  and  the  anxious, 
earnest  men  fighting  to  save  their  comrades. 

''  Come  on.  Pay,"  shouted  the  Quartermaster, 
as  he  dashed  in  to  help.  ''  There'll  be  another 
shell  here  immediately;  let's  get  these  chaps  under 
cover." 

The  Paymaster,  following  in  the  wake  of  the 
Quartermaster,  found  his  hand  grasped  by  a  pair 
of  eyes  and  a  red  splash  where  a  nose  and  chin 
should  have  been.  The  remains  of  a  tongue 
attempted  to  beg  for  help,  but  it  was  from  the 
eyes — eyes  in  which  he  saw  reflected  a  thousand 
horrors — that  the  real  appeal  came.  The  blazing 
gasoline,  streaming  across  the  road,  caught  the 
blankets  of  men  waiting  their  turn  in  the  waggons. 
The  canvas  tilts  of  the  waggons  were  burning 
fiercely,  and  the  flames  swirled  across  the  road. 
Other  shells  following  that  first  lucky  hit,  whistled 
overhead,   bursting  just  beyond  the  cross-roads, 


THE  DOINGS  OF  SOME  DETAILS  187 

and,  still  indifferent  to  the  thousand  deaths,  ex- 
ploded, blazed,  and  shrieked  around  where  the 
work  of  saving  the  wounded  went  on. 

Presently  it  was  done.  The  wounded  were 
removed  from  immediate  danger,  the  flames  were 
beaten  out,  and  the  cross-roads  cleared  of  the 
shattered  transport. 

The  Quartermaster,  with  a  face  like  a  chimney- 
sweep and  nursing  a  burnt  hand,  left  a  wounded 
doctor,  the  last  burden  he  had  helped  to  carry  in, 
to  the  care  of  his  colleagues,  and  wiping  the  soot 
and  sweat  out  of  his  eyes,  turned  to  the  Paymaster. 

"  Time  we  were  getting  home,  Pay;  are  you 
ready  to  start  ?" 

The  Germans  were  still  lining  the  roads  with 
shrapnel  as  they  went  across  the  fields,  pausing 
frequently  as  they  were  held  up  by  some  fresh 
line  of  wire  or  where  a  ditch  had  to  be  jumped. 
The  Paymaster  stoutly  maintained  that  he  knew 
the  way,  but  the  Quartermaster  was  several  times 
forced  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of  the  statement  as 
some  new  obstruction  brought  them  to  a  sudden 
halt. 

The  Germans  were  shelling  the  entrance  to  the 
city,  as  the  two  non-combatants  called  a  halt  to 
discuss  the  situation.  Finally,  taking  their  luck 
in  both  hands,  they  picked  an  interval  between 
two  shells,  and  dashed  across  the  bridge  leading 
into  the  city.  Here  was  a  scene  of  desolation 
disclosed  in  the  dreary  dawn.     Turning  into  the 


188       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

main  square,  they  surveyed  the  scene  of  wreckage. 
In  the  city  around  them  shells  were  falling,  but 
in  front  of  them  the  open  space  lay  silent.  A 
black  cat,  with  wild  staring  amber  eyes,  the  only 
thing  moving  in  sight,  picked  its  way  delicately 
amid  the  uptorn  paving-stones,  and  paused  to 
smell  a  fragment  of  shell.  Evidently  it  was  fresh 
fallen  and  still  hot,  for  the  cat  sneezed  suddenly 
in  the  silence. 

''  A  black  cat,"  said  the  Quartermaster;  ''  that's 
for  luck." 

''  Yes,"  said  the  Paymaster.  ''  We're  not  going 
to  be  killed  this  time." 

In  front  of  them,  gradually  reddening  in  the 
early  morning  sun,  stood  the  ruins  of  the  church 
and  the  town  hall.  It  seemed  that  here  the 
German  spite  had  concentrated;  spires,  buttresses, 
and  pillars,  all  had  crumbled  and  tumbled  together, 
giving  the  whole  a  melted  appearance  as  of  a 
gigantic  sugar-cake  collapsing  on  a  hot  day. 
Great  rifts  yawned  in  the  causeway,  and  right 
in  front  of  the  town  hall  the  father  of  all  shell- 
holes  gaped  big  as  a  circus. 

All  around  them,  in  the  fields  and  woods,  men 
were  fighting  and  dying.  Yet  here,  where  the  full 
force  of  the  ruthlessness  had  concentrated,  was 
the  desolation  of  desolations.  Forlorn  and  for- 
saken, a  modern  Carthage.  The  two  non-com- 
batants, as  they  gazed  on  the  fallen  walls  and 
crumbled    causeway,    felt   the    loneliness    of   this 


THE  DOINGS  OF  SOME  DETAILS  189 

finished  wreck  lie  heavy  on  their  souls.  For  the 
loneliness  of  the  mountains  is  nothing  to  the 
loneliness  of  a  deserted  city  I 

The  Quartermaster  called  the  cat  to  him.  But 
it  would  have  none  of  him,  standing  amid  the 
wreckage  of  what  had  been  its  home,  it  lashed  its 
tail  from  side  to  side  in  manifest  disapproval — 
the  one  creature  in  the  whole  of  that  dead  city 
that  declined  to  flee. 

''All  right,  pussy;  don't  blame  me  if  they  kill 
you.     I've  warned  you,"  said  the  Quartermaster. 

In  the  entrance  of  a  house  a  soldier  was  kneeling, 
his  face  buried  in  his  arm,  against  the  doorpost, 
his  rifle  still  clutched  in  his  other  hand.  The 
Paymaster  touched  him,  trying  to  look  into  his 
face.  The  rifle,  loosened  from  the  nerveless  fingers, 
clattered  on  to  the  pavement.  He  was  dead. 
The  cat,  alarmed  at  the  sudden  sound,  disappeared 
amid  the  ruins. 

The  Paymaster  straightened  himself  up.  ''  Come 
along,  Mac;  let's  get  on.     I'm  sick  of  this." 

Onward  they  tramped  through  the  silent  streets. 
Here  the  front  of  a  house  had  been  blown  out, 
blocking  the  road  with  wreckage.  Inside,  the 
dining-table  was  set  for  a  dinner,  the  white  cloth 
and  folded  napkins,  the  glass  and  flowers,  telling 
of  an  interrupted  festivity.  In  front  were  the 
bodies  of  three  civilians,  one  a  woman,  mowed 
down  in  their  hurried  flight,  their  few  possessions 
lying  beside  them  in  hastily   tied  bundles.     As 


190       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

far  as  could  be  seen,  these  three  and  the  soldier 
were  the  entire  harvest  of  that  ruthless  bom- 
bardment ;  millions  of  pounds  in  weight  and  cost, 
and  three  civilians  and  one  soldier  dead ! 

The  two  non-combatants  set  their  faces  west, 
leaving  the  city  of  the  dead  with  its  gaping  ruins 
and  battered  houses  behind;  and  as  they  walked 
along  the  high-road  beneath  the  budding  poplars, 
the  sun  rose  behind  them,  and  the  sad,  torn  land- 
scape seemed  to  smile  amidst  its  tears.  It  was 
as  though  by  some  strange  chance  they  had  come 
from  death  to  life;  the  birds  were  singing  in  the 
branches,  and  the  apple  and  cherry  trees  were  gay 
with  blossom. 


CHAPTEE  XI 

"  AND  EESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  " 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  seventh  day.  "  Six 
days  shalt  thou  labour  and  do  all  that  thou  hast 

to  do,   but  the  seventh "     Certainly  for  six 

days  we  had  laboured,  and  as  the  officers  of  the 
Pompadours,  after  seeing  to  the  requirements  of 
their  men,  dropped  into  breakfast  one  after  another, 
they  felt  that  they  had  done  all  they  had  to  do. 
From  a  six  days'  nightmare  we  woke  to  find  our- 
selves famous — at  least,  so  it  seemed  from  the 
London  papers.  Not  that  we  had  been  to  sleep; 
that  was  still  to  come.  Here  we  were,  seated  at 
a  round  table  in  the  rear  of  the  Quartermaster's 
store,  munching  our  ham  and  eggs,  and  devouring 
the  news  in  the  morning  papers,  while  the  Quarter- 
master and  the  transport  officer  hovered  round 
us,  and  plied  us  with  fresh  dehcacies  and  steaming 
cups  of  coffee.  The  transport  officer  surpassed 
himself  on  this  occasion,  as  Lieutenant  Allonby, 
who  felt  like  nothing  on  earth  after  a  week's  pre- 
carious existence,  found  to  his  delight. 

"  Have  some  more  ham  and  eggs  ?" 

"  No,  thanks." 

191 


192       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''  Some  coffee  ?" 

"  No,  thanks." 

''  All  right;  if  you're  ready,  your  bed  is." 

Upstairs  the  transport  officer  led  the  way. 
Here  Alionby  found  his  blankets  waiting  for  him. 
''  Now,  when  you're  ready  for  it,  here's  a  double 
tot  of  rum;  a  bottle  of  white  wine;  there's  some 
cigars  on  that  soap-box;  and  I've  the  Daily  Hustler 
for  you  to  read." 

The  somewhat  jaded  Lieutenant  lay  back  amid 
his  blankets,  inhaling  smoke  that  certainly  is  not 
retailed  at  two  for  a  quarter,  as  the  rum  inside 
him  glowed  comfortingly.  After  all,  a  battle  is 
not  so  bad  if  it  leads  to  such  an  extremity  of 
comfort.  The  battalion  had  not  been  relieved  as 
a  single  unit,  but  each  company,  as  it  had  received 
its  orders,  moved  down  the  long  road  and  through 
the  burning  villages  of  Boscap  and  St.  Michel, 
and  through  the  nocturnal  hurricane  of  the  City 
of  Distress.  The  result  was  the  officers  were  not 
in  time  for  breakfast.  They  came  singly  or  in 
pairs,  but  for  the  most  part  they  came  not  at  all. 
As  the  remnants  of  each  company  marched  in, 
their  officers  reported;  but  in  two  out  of  the  four 
companies  the  reports  were  brought  in  by  sergeants, 
as  there  were  no  officers. 

It  had  indeed  been  a  fairly  complete  clean  out; 
and  as  the  officers  met  as  a  battalion  mess,  the 
first  for  many  days,  the  interest  in  the  fates  of  the 
absentees  was  not  second  even  to  their  hunger  for 


"  AND  RESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  "         193 

a  meal.  At  first  it  appeared  very  bad  with  eighteen 
empty  places  at  mess  and  only  ^ve  fighting  officers 
surviving.  They  were  absent — that  seemed  enough ; 
some  we  knew  were  dead.  They  had  been  seen  to 
die — that  was  enough;  for  them  we  had  no  hope. 
But  for  the  others  there  was  still  a  chance:  that 
little  spark  of  promise  that  always  goes  with  the 
word  of  ill-omen — ''  missing." 

Madden  and  Bromfield  both  were  killed,  shot 
through  the  head  before  the  Germans  invaded  the 
front  line.  Leckie  had  died,  with  a  bullet  in  his 
heart,  while  shooting  calmly  and  composedly 
across  the  parapet.  A  noted  shot,  Leckie,  at  all 
our  western  meetings — and  in  the  trenches,  for 
that  matter,  also.  He  seldom  scored  other  than 
a  bull's-eye;  it  was  only  right,  if  he  had  to  go, 
that  he  should  go  out  thus  cleanly  and  painlessly, 
who  had  ever  dealt  so  accurately  with  his  op- 
ponents. Beaton  also  we  knew  of,  shot  through 
the  head.  On  one  occasion  previously  the  bullet 
had  grazed  his  head,  marking  his  scalp  with  a 
ruddy  parting.  That  time  the  Bosche  shot  too 
high;  this  time  the  bullet  made  more  certain; 
three  inches  lower,  it  got  him  in  the  centre  of  his 
forehead.  Then  of  the  others — Tiny  Pillows  had 
been  seen  badly  wounded,  but  still  fighting  his 
machine-gun  as  he  hung  to  its  stock,  with  the  gun 
team  all  knocked  out  around  him.  Captain 
Younger,  his  head  in  a  bandage,  had  stayed  in  the 
trench  he  and  his  men  had  defended  so  well. 

13 


194       MAPLE  LEAVES  JN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

We  went  through  the  list,  taking  each  name  in 
turn,  as  we  wondered,  guessed,  and  speculated 
as  to  their  fates.  Honest  John,  Lindsay,  and 
Bridges,  were  known  to  be  among  the  wounded. 
Each  had  been  seen  by  some  of  the  non-com- 
batants as  they  were  carried  o£E  to  hospital.  And 
so  the  survivors  sat  at  their  breakfast,  dirty, 
unshaven  and  weary,  their  faces  marked  with 
new  lines  that  many  days  would  not  suffice  to 
wipe  away. 

"  I  wish  you'd  take  the  Adjutant  out  and  get 
him  a  shave."  It  was  the  man  of  God  addressing 
the  transport  officer. 

*'  What's  wrong,  Padre  ?  Don't  you  like  my 
whiskers  ?"  asked  the  Adjutant. 

''  No;  they're  putting  the  Doctor  ofi  his  food." 

''  Well,  you'll  have  to  get  used  to  them.  They 
remind  me  of  South  Africa.  I'm  going  to  keep 
them  on." 

Bit  by  bit  we  pieced  the  parts  of  the  puzzle 
together,  learning  how  the  regiment,  after  falling 
back  from  their  trenches,  had  gathered  together 
along  the  ridge.  Unking  up  with  the  still  determined 
Highlanders  and  the  remainder  of  our  own  Western 
Brigade.  How  the  Prairie  Eifles  and  the  Saska- 
toons had  remained  in  their  trenches  to  the  last, 
despite  the  gas,  despite  everything.  How,  with 
Imperial  units  coming  up  to  relieve  them,  they 
had  held  on,  fighting  until  the  sparks  flew  and  the 
cows  came  home  to  roost.    How  the  Brigadier, 


''  AND  RESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  "         195 

our  Brigadier,  had  come  among  us  and  told  us 
to  keep  on  fighting,  and,  when  we'd  finished  that, 
to  fight  some  more.  And  we  heard  how  the 
transport  had  flitted  about  from  place  to  place, 
standing  to,  ever  ready  to  move,  as  the  German 
guns  found  them  out,  and  how  the  Quarter- 
master's staff,  back  in  the  City  of  Distress,  had 
left  their  store  at  one  door  as  the  shells  came  in 
at  the  other. 

Well,  it  had  been  a  great  fight,  and  we,  assembled 
round  the  table,  were  the  lucky  ones.  To  us 
would  be  the  praise,  and  perchance  some  of  the 
glory  too ;  but  up  there  on  the  ridge,  to  the  north- 
east, beyond  the  City  of  Distress,  lay  the  real 
heroes — those  who  had  fought  so  well  and  in 
fighting  thus  had  died,  in  order  that  Canada,  the 
Empire,  and  the  world,  might  yet  be  free. 

So  musing,  we  went  in  search  of  our  blankets; 
and  here,  as  in  the  case  of  Lieutenant  Allonby, 
the  transport  officer  had  done  us  proud,  and  we 
slept  as  they  say  only  warriors  and  the  just  can 
sleep.  Well,  we  must  have  been  one  or  the  other, 
as  our  slumbers  were  unbroken.  The  rum  ration 
has  been  responsible  for  saving  many  lives  and 
cheering  up  spirits  during  many  a  dark  hour, 
but  certainly  never  was  a  drink  so  welcome  and 
altogether  necessary  as  on  that  occasion. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Captain  Wales  and  Lieu- 
tenant Allonby  woke.  The  Huns  were  shelling 
the  village. 


196       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  Really,  this  is  too  bad.  They  might  give  us 
a  rest  sometimes/'  remarked  the  Captain. 

*'  My  dear,  the  Bosche  is  perfectly  impossible. 
This  is  pure  spite;  but  as  we've  got  to  move  out 
behind  the  canal,  I  suppose  we  had  better  be 
going?" 

The  Western  Brigade  was  holding  the  bank  of 
a  canal.  The  Pompadours  were  in  support,  play- 
ing about  in  the  hedgerows  like  rabbits.  Here 
we  dug  ourselves  in,  and  daily,  as  the  Germans 
shelled  us,  improved  our  shelter  and  attained  to 
greater  safety.  The  Germans  were  by  no  means 
bigoted  in  their  tastes:  with  an  open  hand  they 
dispersed  among  us  high  explosives  and  shrapnel, 
while  their  aeroplanes  from  the  simmering  heights 
of  blue  above  dropped  bombs  on  us. 

Here  we  made  acquaintance  of  the  Ramrod 
dugout,  so  called  because  it  was  as  twisted  as  a 
corkscrew  and  in  deference  to  its  inventor — a 
gallant  sergeant,  who,  when  the  first  shell  whistled 
in  the  distance,  ran  to  earth  like  a  terrier  down 
a  rat-hole.  Here  his  feet  could  just  be  seen 
appearing  from  the  exit,  while  from  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  came  noises  as  of  one  burrowing  strenu- 
ously. Presently  he  would  emerge  like  a  gopher, 
and  with  his  nose  and  eyebrows  plastered  with 
mud,  take  a  rapid  survey  of  the  surrounding 
country,  only  to  disappear  in  a  wink  if  so  much 
as  a  blade  of  grass  moved  or  a  leaf  rustled  on  the 
tree.     The  men  got  lots  of  fun  out  of  it.     ''  Look 


"  AND  RESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  "         197 

out,  Sergeant  Eamrod;  there's  a  shell !" — that 
was  enough.  The  dauntless  N.C.O.  would  at  once 
do  the  disappearing  trick,  and  the  excavation 
commenced  all  over  again.  So  deep  was  he 
immersed,  he  never  knew  if  the  shells  were  flying 
past;  and  as  his  antics  were  about  our  only  form 
of  entertainment,  he  got  many  alarms. 

And  while  we  lay  along  the  hedge-bottom,  and 
the  shells  flew  overhead  and  burst  in  the  soft 
earth  behind  us,  we  read  in  the  morning  papers 
that  the  Germans  were  short  of  ammunition,  that 
they  had  no  copper  for  the  driving  bands,  and  that 
their  shrapnel  was  composed  of  glass  balls  and 
marbles  ! 

*'  I  wonder  who  this  dope's  intended  for  ?" 
remarked  full  Private  Freeborn,  late  citizen  of 
U.S.A.,  handing  a  copy  of  the  Baity  Bream  to 
his  fellow  body-snatcher,  Private  Lavigne.  ''  Seems 
kind  of  absurd  to  peddle  such  stuff  round  here. 
I've  not  seen  a  dud  all  day." 

''What  is  it  you  are  talking  about?"  asked 
War-horse  McMutchkin  from  the  bottom  of  the 
ditch  where  he  was  idly  reposing,  his  hat  tilted 
over  his  nose  and  his  pipe  stuck  in  the  corner  of 
his  mouth. 

*'  This  'ere  Bily  Bream  ses  the  'uns  'as  only 
marbles  left  to  ply  with,  an'  spend  the  'ole  die 
peppering  us  with  glass  bawls,"  answered  Lavigne 
authoritatively  from  the  depths  of  his  news- 
paper. 


198        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

'*  Is  that  so  ?  Well,  I  saw  them  play  marbles 
with  the  head  of  a  sergeant  in  a  Welsh  regi- 
ment down  the  road  just  now,  back  of  the 
farm,"  remarked  Highland  Glory  as  he  joined  the 
party. 

'*  It's  a  terrible  pity  we  don't  manage  to  have 
them  that  writes  this  stuff  here  with  us  to  count 
the  number  of  shells  that  do  burst,"  said  the 
War-horse. 

''  I  guess  they  might  run  ofi  a  special  sheet  for 
us  over  here  omitting  all  the  eyewash;  it  gives  me 
a  pain.     Now  they  say  they're  short  of  gold." 

'*  You'd  better  not  get  taken  prisoner,  Phil,  with 
those  teeth  of  yours,"  said  Lavigne. 

Highland  Glory  was  both  alarmed  and  angry; 
he  had  just  returned  from  Eccles,  where  he  had 
been  sent  on  a  message.  Then,  being  told  to  wait 
an  hour  for  an  answer,  he  had  strolled  into  the 
churchyard,  partly  because  he  had  none  of  his 
pay  left  to  warrant  a  successful  visit  to  an  estaminet, 
and  partly  because  the  blood  of  his  Highland 
ancestry  encouraged  him,  with  morbid  fancies,  to 
wander  among  the  graves.  In  the  churchyard, 
while  amusing  himself  by  deciphering  the  letters 
on  the  crosses,  he  was  suddenly  confronted  by  his 
own  name. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  There  it  stood 
for  all  the  world  to  read,  complete  with  his  regi- 
mental number  and  initials.  Horror-struck  and 
filled  with  a  feehng  of  impending  doom,  he  fled 


"  AND  RESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  "         199 

from  the  churchyard ;  and  forgetting  entirely  the 
answer  to  the  message,  he  hastened  back  to  the 
battaHon.  On  the  way  back  he  had,  on  three 
separate  occasions,  seen  a  single  magpie — and  this 
in  the  mating-time,  when  the  fancies  of  all  sensible 
birds  had  properly  turned  to  thoughts  of  love; 
then,  the  sudden  death  of  the  Welsh  sergeant  at 
his  side,  had  completely  finished  him.  Suspicious 
and  filled  with  strange  and  horrible  beliefs,  he 
refused  to  be  comforted. 

'*  I'm  not  long  for  this  world,  anyhow,''  he  wound 
up  his  depressing  narrative. 

''  You'd  better  go  sick,  Mac.  Tell  the  Doctor 
you  were  gassed.  You  look  blue  enough  already. 
Just  pretend  to  breathe  a  trifle  hard,"  the  War- 
horse  advised. 

"  Go  sick !  And  be  sent  back  for  a  court- 
martial.  I'm  not  fancying  field  punishment  under 
our  doctor.  He'd  keep  me  digging  ditches  all  day 
long." 

''  Why  don't  yer  get  on  with  the  Preacher  as  bat- 
man, and  give  out  the  'ymn-books  on  church 
parade,"  suggested  Lavigne;  "  that's  a  safe  job." 

*'  What's  all  this  ?  A  convalescent  camp  or  a 
Sunday-school  treat  ?"  It  was  the  Medical  Officer 
who  had  come  up  unobserved.  ''  You  look  pretty 
sick,  McSpeldron;  got  a  stomach-ache  ?" 

"  Please,  sir,  I've  just  been  buried." 

"  What,  by  a  shell  ?" 

'*  I'm  not  sure,  but  think  it  must  have  been  a 


200       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

meenister  and  a  burial-party.     I  wasn't   present 
myself." 

''  How  could  you  be  buried  if  you  weren't  there  ? 
You're  going  crazy." 

''  No,  sir,  I'm  not  daft.  I'm  lying  dead  and 
buried  in  Eccles  at  the  present  moment,  between 
a  Colonel  and  a  sergeant-major." 

''  Have  you  been  drinking  ?" 

"  Not  a  drop.  Not  since  that  day  at  Bosky 
when  you  wasted  all  the  wine." 

Gradually  the  Medical  Officer  arrived  at  the  truth 
of  the  situation,  and  for  once  a  bright  idea  seemed 
to  strike  him. 

''  Where's  your  identity  disc  ?" 

Private  McSpeldron  unbuttoned  his  tunic  and 
searched  diligently  among  the  folds  of  his  various 
shirts  for  the  article  in  question.  It  was  not 
forthcoming. 

"  I've  not  got  it." 

''  No,  of  course  not;  you  dropped  it  when  you 
were  tying  up  a  wounded  man,  and  somebody 
found  it  and  tied  it  on  to  him." 

''  That's  just  a  possibility,"  answered  McSpeldron 
doubtfully. 

'*  Possibility  !  It's  the  only  true  explanation," 
thundered  the  Medical  Officer,  who  prided  himself 
on  his  clearness  of  perception.  "  You'd  better 
secure  the  cross  and  carry  it  about  with  you  as 
a  souvenir.  Nelson  always  carried  a  coffin  about 
with  him." 


"  AND  EESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  "         201 

"Yes,  Mac,"  remarked  the  War-horse;  ''it's 
bound  to  come  in  useful  sooner  or  later." 

''  But  the  magpies,  doctor  ?  Three  single  mag- 
pies ?" 

''  Bachelors,  confirmed  bachelors.  Now,  if  you 
people  have  nothing  to  do  but  discuss  sudden 
death  in  various  forms,  we'll  do  a  little  camp- 
cleaning.     Fall  in." 

The  medical  detail  spent  the  rest  of  the  day 
cleaning  up  the  camp,  and  as  The  McSpeldron's 
misfortunes  were  considered  to  be  directly  respon- 
sible for  their  laborious  duties,  he  met  with  little 
sympathy. 

Here  we  received  a  much-needed  batch  of  re- 
inforcements. They  came  to  us  in  the  morning  in 
all  the  glory  of  their  new  kits  and  fresh  equipment, 
the  possessors  of  sundry  necessary  articles  of  which 
our  battered  remnants  were  short.  Prior  to  being 
broken  up  and  attached  to  the  various  companies, 
they  were  fallen  out  in  a  corner  of  a  field,  from 
whence  they  gazed  at  us  across  the  hedge  with 
apparent  interest.  With  trustful  simpHcity  they 
spread  their  belongings  about  on  the  grass,  and 
wandered  out  to  hear  our  various  tales.  Possibly 
what  they  were  told  lacked  nothing  in  the  telling. 
Then  the  Germans  commenced  shelling;  the  re- 
inforcements at  the  first  burst  of  shrapnel  took 
to  the  ditches  and  dugouts,  and  scattered  into  thin 
air.  Their  possessions  scattered  also,  for  the 
Pompadours    were    amongst    them,    re-equipping 


202        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

themselves,  without  thought  of  an  indent.  Mess- 
tins,  blankets,  water-bottles,  haversacks,  changed 
owners  in  a  flash,  and  when  the  new  arrivals 
returned  to  look,  they  found  their  worldly  goods 
vanished  and  the  Pompadours  smiling  a  smile  that 
was  childlike  and  bland.  They  had  most  of  the 
cards  up  their  sleeves,  and  there  they  would  remain. 

The  Medical  OfEcer  was  busy;  he  was  the  only 
poultice-walloper  left  on  deck  in  the  brigade. 
Gillette,  of  the  Assiniboias,  died  at  the  door  of  his 
dressing-station,  hit  by  a  falling  bomb.  Head  of 
the  Saskatoons  stayed  by  his  wounded,  refusing 
to  desert  them,  and  finally  became  a  prisoner; 
and  Featherstone,  of  the  Prairie  Rifles,  was  badly 
wounded  as  he  attended  to  one  of  his  battalion 
on  the  ridge.  Along  the  canal  bank  the  Saskatoons 
and  Assiniboias  lay  entrenched,  with  the  remnants 
of  the  Highland  Brigade;  and  here  for  a  week 
they  remained,  while  the  guns  pounded  them 
and  the  Taubes  circled  overhead. 

Battalion  Headquarters  were  in  the  usual  farm, 
a  place  fraught  with  infinite  possibiHties ;  already  it 
had  been  hit,  and  its  peaked,  thatched  roof  would 
offer  a  poor  protection  at  the  best  of  times.  For 
that  matter  the  headquarters  had  had  enough  of 
thatched  roofs.  So  the  Medical  Ofiicer  went  out 
and  called  his  body-snatchers  together,  and  they 
dug  a  row  of  what  they  called  dugouts.  The 
Major  and  the  Adjutant,  whom  he  summoned  with 
pride  to  view  his  handiwork,  mistook  the  excava- 


"AND  RESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY"         203 

tions  for  an  embryo  graveyard,  and  asked  when 
the  burial  service  was  to  begin.  So  they  all 
retired  back  to  the  farm-house,  which  was  of  all 
farm-houses  the  most  dismal.  Then  the  shelHng 
recommenced,  and  the  house  was  hit  again,  so 
they  retired  to  the  barn,  which  was,  if  possible, 
more  unsafe  and  dismal  than  the  house.  Finally, 
when  things  quieted  down,  they  resumed  their 
occupation  of  the  farm-house,  while  the  Adjutant 
busied  himself  with  his  customary  nominal  roll, 
which  was  now  merely  a  skeleton  afiair,  and  the 
Colonel  recommended  various  people  for  promotion 
and  others  for  decorations.  Then  the  owners  of 
the  house  came  back  and  removed  the  stove, 
while  the  Medical  Officer  strafed  them  for  in- 
hospitable and  scurrilous  knaves,  and  threatened 
to  write  to  King  Albert.  As  a  result  there  was 
no  means  of  cooking,  and  the  gloomy  kitchen, 
with  its  grey  walls  and  dirty  floor,  looked  more 
like  a  vault  than  ever.  Then  Captain  Cope,  who 
was  collecting  relics,  removed  the  only  crucifix 
from  the  walls. 

"  That's  finished  it,"  said  the  Doctor.  ''  I  may 
belong  to  the  Auld  Kirk,  but  I  dechne  to  stay  any 
longer  in  the  house  after  you've  taken  that  thing 
away." 

So  the  Medical  Officer  went  out  and  lay  in  his 
grave,  which  he  called  his  dugout;  and  though 
he  didn't  eat  worms,  he  felt  like  it,  and  refused  to 
be  comforted,  and  prophesied  all  sorts  of  horrors 


204        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

and  destruction.     And  the  day  after  the  Pompa 
dours   had    been   reheved,  that   house   of   gloom 
sustained  a  direct  hit,  and  collapsed  like  a  pack 
of  cards. 

The  transport,  retiring  to  a  respectful  distance 
out  of  shell-fire,  found  themselves  amid  what  at 
first  looked  like  some  picturesque  offshoot  of 
Barnum  and  Bailey's.  Tall,  dusky  warriors  in 
flowing  cloaks  of  blue  and  scarlet,  with  red  leather 
trappings  on  clean-limbed  Arab  steeds.  These 
were  the  French  native  cavalry.  With  a  dignified 
air  of  aloofness,  and  a  predilection  for  red  wine, 
they  strolled  about  smoking  their  cigarettes  in  a 
calm  of  silence.  The  transport  officer  would  have 
none  of  them,  and  doubled  the  sentries  on  his 
waggons,  and  counted  his  horses  three  times  every 
hour.  He  refused  to  sleep,  bounding  out  of  bed 
many  times  at  night  to  see  whether  these  children 
of  the  desert  had  broken  like  wolves  into  his 
sheepfold,  until  the  Quartermaster,  who  shared  a 
tent  with  him,  threatened  to  go  out  and  cut  the 
picketing  ropes. 

The  Pompadours  were  all  a  trifle  fed  up.  When 
a  regiment  loses  three-quarters  of  its  officers,  and 
more  than  half  its  men,  it  is  idle  to  expect  that  it 
will  show  no  efiects.  Besides,  we  were  tired  of 
being  shelled,  and  very  tired  of  standing-to  per- 
petually. The  Eastern  Brigade  was  relieved,  and 
the  Jocks  left  their  temporary  cantonments  on 
the  canal  banks,  but  the  Westerners  still  remained. 


"  AND  RESTED  THE  SEVENTH  DAY  "         205 

It  was  a  dark  night,  without  moon  or  stars, 
when  the  Brigade  finally  assembled  near  the  cross- 
roads of  Malmartre,  and  commenced  their  march 
southwards.  The  route  lay  by  a  series  of  cross- 
roads, and  the  hedgerow  fighting  had  ill-attuned 
our  feet  to  marching,  and  in  the  darkness  we 
stumbled  in  the  ruts  and  wrenched  our  ankles  in 
the  shell-holes.  It  was  hot  as  a  July  night,  and 
our  packs  hung  heavy  on  our  shoulders.  With 
the  best  spirit  in  the  world  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  be  cheerful ;  and  then,  although  we  were 
glad  to  be  out  and  on  the  move  again,  we  could 
not  forget  all  we  were  leaving  behind  us,  and  our 
friends  upon  the  ridge.  Hour  after  hour  we 
plodded  on,  and  in  the  close,  breathless  darkness 
of  night  the  thirst  that  we  developed  was  profound. 
The  men  had  ceased  even  to  grumble  and  had 
fallen  silent,  and  in  the  stillness  nothing  could  be 
heard  but  the  tramp  of  men  and  rumble  of  waggons, 
and  once  or  twice  a  sudden  sound  of  anger  which 
told  of  a  twisted  ankle.  Behind  us  boomed  the 
guns,  ours  and  theirs,  and  along  the  distant  horizon 
the  star-shells  rose  and  fell. 

Suddenly  from  nowhere,  flooding  us  from  all 
around,  came  a  burst  of  song.  To  us,  tired, 
thirsty,  and  altogether  fed  up,  it  seemed  as  a 
burst  of  heavenly  music.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
angels  of  Mons,  come  to  ground  to  cheer  us  up. 
No,  it  couldn't  be  that;  they  would  have  played 
''  Onward,    Christian     soldiers !"     or     "  Through 


206       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  night  of  doubt  and  sorrow  "  to  us.  No,  this 
was  something  different.  ''  Hold  your  hand  out, 
naughty  boy  !"  It  must  be  St.  Peter — that's  the 
way  he'd  probably  talk. 

It  was  the  band  of  the  Robin  Hoods,  welcoming 
us  from  out  the  sights  and  sounds  behind  us. 
The  effect  was  magical.  The  straggled  sections 
of  fours  closed  up,  shoulders  which  had  sagged 
forward  beneath  their  packs  braced  up,  and 
marching  in  steady  time  we  swung  along  the 
ringing  road  behind  the  blare  of  music. 

As  we  left  the  band  behind,  the  melody  still 
came  to  us  fading  with  the  distance,  but  its  effect 
was  with  us.  The  Pompadours  had  come  to  life. 
A  glow  of  friendship  filled  us  for  the  Robin  Hoods, 
and  the  Canadians  will  not  soon  forget  how  they 
played  us  down  the  road  and  out  of  that  grim 
and  death-smitten  city,  and  sent  us  on  our  way, 
braced  up  with  the  finest  tonic  in  the  world. 
Packs  were  hitched  up,  mouth-organs  appeared, 
and  the  Pompadours  sang  as  they  marched  down 
into  the  sleeping  city  of  Malines. 


CHAPTEE  XII 

OUT  TO  GRASS 

Kest  billets:  there  is  something  very  pleasant  in 
the  name.  We  arrived  with  the  dawn,  yet  not 
before  our  host  had  risen. 

The  Doctor,  speaking  execrable  French,  de- 
manded beer  in  a  thirsty  voice,  while  the  Adjutant, 
already  seated  in  the  kitchen,  was  talking  to 
Madame.  That  first  drink  after  the  long  night 
march — how  we  gloated  over  it !  It  was  not  the 
watery,  washy  liquid  of  the  estaminets,  but,  as 
Monsieur  Jules  informed  us,  made  on  the  premises. 

*'  Encore  un  autre,"  said  the  Medical  Officer, 
with  an  accent  like  a  rasp-saw.  ''  I  hardly  tasted 
that  one.  Help  !  But  I'm  tired;  that  last  mile 
nearly  fixed  me." 

"  What,  did  you  walk  all  the  way  ?"  asked  that 
rigid  teetotaller,  the  Major,  who  had  condescended 
to  sip  a  cup  of  coffee. 

''  Yes,  every  inch.  I  had  a  bet  with  Willie 
Cousins  I'd  walk  the  whole  way,  so  the  body- 
snatchers  took  it  in  turn  to  ride  Rhubarb." 

We  went  to  bed  in  the  broad  daylight,  wrapped 
in  our  blankets  on  the  stone  floor,  the  sun  shining 

207 


208       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FALNDERS  FIELDS 

through  the  windows  and  the  larks  soaring  sky- 
wards outside — and  woke  in  the  still  peace  of  an 
unruffled  spring  day. 

It  was  a  rich  and  cheerful  country-side,  with 
green  fields,  and  fruit-trees  white  with  blossom; 
and  as  we  strolled  about  and  waited  for  the  batman 
to  prepare  our  breakfast,  we  drew  in  long,  deep 
draughts  of  the  pure  fresh  air.  We  had  slept 
well;  our  thoughts  were  all  in  front  of  us,  away 
from  the  troubles  of  the  last  few  days. 

''  How  did  you  sleep,  Pills  ?"  inquired  the 
Adjutant. 

"  Sleep  ?  Like  a  corpse."  The  Medical  Officer 
had  an  air  mattress,  which  his  batman  inflated 
every  night.  He  always  maintained  that  when  he 
couldn't  sleep,  he  loosened  the  valve  slightly  and 
inhaled  the  fumes  that  escaped.  He  said  it  was 
like  chloroform.  His  batman  had  a  well-mellowed 
breath  ! 

"  Here  we  can  breathe  again,"  said  the  Adjutant, 
"  without  the  taste  of  gas." 

''  Yes;  and  my  sense  of  taste  is  coming  back, 
thank  Heaven,"  the  Major  remarked.  It  certainly 
seemed  so  as  the  ham  and  eggs  evaporated  from 
his  plate. 

'*  Major,  I  protest.  How  am  I  to  keep  the  mess 
bills  down  when  you  eat  six  eggs  at  every  sitting  ? 
Look  at  the  Padre  with  the  marmalade.  Padre, 
that's  not  porridge  you're  eating,"  remonstrated 
the  Medical  Officer, 


OUT  TO  GKASS     ^  209 

''  Well,  what  about  the  beer  you  drink  ?  And 
what  happens  to  the  Major's  rum  ration  and  mine  ? " 
the  man  of  God  inquired. 

''  Don't  ask  leading  questions,  Padre,  and  go 
on  with  your  breakfast/' 

Rest  billets.  We  were  there  to  rest.  At  first 
it  appeared  so,  and  then  came  the  order  that  we 
were  to  be  ready  to  move  at  short  notice,  so  our 
rest  seemed  suddenly  to  fade  away.  Yet  there 
was  Malines — a  one-horse  town,  it  is  true,  but 
nevertheless  a  town.  It  was  quite  near,  so  we 
might  have  been  worse  ofi.  Our  reinforcements 
turned  out  to  be  extraordinarily  good;  we  had 
certainly  misjudged  them  when,  under  the  influence 
of  shell-fire,  we  pinched  their  equipment ! 

The  General  who  commanded  the  army  came 
to  see  us  and  thanked  us  for  what  we  had  done, 
and  our  own  Generals  of  Division  and  Brigade  did 
the  same,  and  we  received  presents  from  many 
sources:  one  from  no  less  a  person  than  Her  Majesty 
Queen  Alexandra.  So,  gradually,  we  began  to  feel 
we  had  done  something. 

The  Medical  Officer  had  large  sick-parades.     It 

was  always  the  way  in  the  Pompadours.     If  the 

battalion  was  going  to  the  trenches,  or  to  do  any 

fighting,  the  sick  at  once  appeared  to  get  well  as 

with  a  touch  of  magic;  but  in  rest  billets,  when 

the  duties  of  the  day  called  for  route  marches  and 

kit  inspections,  they  tumbled  over  one  another  to 

be  excused  ofi  parade. 

14 


210       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''How  can  I  get  sick-leave?"  asked  the  Pay- 
master, who  was  of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind, 
as  the  Medical  Officer  entered  the  mess-room  after 
a  strenuous  time  with  sundry  personages  who 
appeared  inchned  to  work  their  tickets. 

''  Can't  be  done,"  answered  the  Medical  Officer 
firmly. 

"  Tell  me,  Doctor:  what  is  a  nice  pleasant  disease 
I  could  get  that  would  insure  my  going  to 
England  ?"  the  Padre  inquired. 

*'  You'd  better  take  to  drink  and  have  D.T.'s," 
was  all  the  comfort  he  got. 

The  Major  had  been  put  on  a  diet  and  presented 
with  a  bottle  of  brown  mixture,  which  he  imbibed 
mysteriously  three  times  a  day,  encouraged  by 
the  Medical  Officer.  Captain  Cope,  who  was 
thirsting  for  promotion,  insisted  on  pressing  him 
to  partake  of  pickles,  canned  mushrooms,  and 
other  horrors  to  which  the  Commanding  Officer 
was  extremely  partial,  in  order  to  clear  the  way 
in  front  of  him. 

"  Have  some  curried  shrimps.  Colonel  ?"  said 
Captain  Cope. 

"No,  thank  you;  I'd  like  to,  but  the  Doctor 
won't  permit  it." 

''  Well,  how  am  I  to  get  command  of  the  bat- 
talion if  you  won't  ?  I'd  Uke  to  know,"  remarked 
the  scheming  Captain. 

The  Quartermaster  complained  of  sleeplessness, 
and   whenever   the   Medical   Officer   was  around 


OUT  TO  GRASS  >  211 

showed  a  shaking  hand,  which  he  said  called  for  at 
least  a  month's  sick-leave. 

The  only  one,  however,  to  have  any  success 
was  the  Paymaster.  He  chose  the  happy  device 
of  falling  from  his  horse  and  complained  of  severe 
and  racking  pains  in  the  back.  It  was  like  the 
ten  little  nigger-boys :  one  after  another  the  officers 
of  the  Pompadours  were  disappearing. 

The  Quartermaster  was  living  in  an  estaminet. 
Very  peaceful,  too.  *'  Au  Retour  de  Tonkin " 
seemed  to  encourage  the  quenching  of  a  thirst, 
developed  in  the  sweltering  Eastern  heat.  They 
are  original,  the  names  that  hang  over  the  doors 
of  these  most  acceptable  rest-houses.  There  is 
the  ''  Au  Transvaal,"  reminiscent  of  a  time  when 
we  and  our  gallant  allies  were  not  so  cordial  in 
our  entente  as  at  present !  They  cater  to  a  variety 
of  tastes.  Just  round  the  corner  from  the  insane 
asylum,  in  a  certain  provincial  town  bearing  an 
historic  name,  is  the  ''  Estaminet  au  Descent  de 
I'Asile,"  ready  to  welcome  the  newly  discharged 
patient,  who,  doubtless  rejoicing  in  his  newly 
regained  freedom,  would  not  be  slow  to  take 
advantage  of  its  proffered  hospitality. 

In  another  place  there  is  the  ''  Belle  Vue  de 
Cimetiere."  Here,  in  all  probability,  the  mourners 
returning  from  the  graveside  are  intended  to  drown 
their  sorrows,  while  at  the  same  time  keeping  a 
watchful  eye  on  the  sexton  putting  down  the  sods. 

Then  there  was  the  "  Moine  Fou."    There  was 


212       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

a  diSerence  in  opinion  as  to  what  this  meant, 
the  Quartermaster  maintaining  the  gentleman  in 
question  was  certainly  drunk,  while  the  Doctor 
asserted  it  meant  crazy  ! 

*'  I  think  the  Doctor  is  right,"  said  the  Padre 
judicially.  *' '  Fou  '  may  mean  *  drunk  '  in  your 
country,  but  here  it  has  quite  another  meaning." 
The  Quartermaster  was  unconvinced;  ''  fou  "  had 
always  meant  "  fu',"  and  would  always  mean  the 
same  thing  for  all  the  ministers;  andj  doctors  in 
the  world. 

And  so  on  through  a  succession  of  original  titles : 
the  "  Bon  Fermier,"  the  "  Bon  Chant  des  Oiseaux," 
the  "  Pot  au  Lait,"  the  ''  Belle  Odour  de  TAbat- 
toir  " — truly  a  varied  and  interesting  collection. 
They  occurred  with  a  frequency  and  persistency 
that  at  first  we  might  have  found  alarming;  but 
the  days  of  crime  due  to  the  wine-cup  were  prac- 
tically forbye,  whether  because  we  had  learnt 
man's  first  great  lesson — how  much  he  can  hold — 
or  because  the  fermented  beverages  on  retail 
could  not  be  bought  in  sufficient  quantities,  with 
the  small  sums  of  money  at  our  command,  to  do 
more  than  give  us  a  kindly  glow. 

All  this  time  we  were  under  the  order  to  "  stand 
to,"  to  be  ready  to  move — an  order  that  cramped 
our  style,  and  in  large  part  restricted  our  freedom ; 
and  then  finally  came  the  summons  to  be  ofi:  we 
were  going  south.  I  am  certain  that  everyone 
was  relieved,  for  just  at  the  moment  nobody  was 


OUT  TO  GRASS  213 

inclined  to  return  to  the  north,  which  meant  the 
City  of  Distress. 

Two  days  later  we  were  marching  towards  the 
ruined  remnant  of  what  had  once  been  a  village. 
As  we  approached,  excitement  was  in  the  air. 
For  a  wonder  we  were  marching  in  the  daylight, 
and  as  we  advanced  we  met  with  first  one  and 
then  another  batch  of  prisoners.  Dusty  and  tired 
they  looked  as  they  came  along  surrounded  by 
their  guards.  There  were  German  helmets  to 
burn:  everybody  seemed  to  have  two  or  three, 
and  all  manner  of  other  mementoes  also. 

The  stretcher-bearers  in  the  rear  of  the  battalion 
were  singing  as  they  marched  along  the  way. 
Mouth-organs  were  going  full  blast,  alternating 
with  the  whistling  of  pipe  tunes  by  our  High- 
landers. 

In  a  field  by  the  roadside  an  old  lady  was  spread- 
ing manure — an  old  lady  with  a  short  skirt  dis- 
playing aged  ankles,  and  feet  disappearing  into 
wooden    shoes.     She    evidently    met    with    the 
War-horse's  approval. 

*' There  you  are,  boys,"  he  called.  ''Look: 
there's  the  sort  of  wife  you  young  lads  want  to 
marry." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  she  wouldn't  want  to  go  to  the 
movies  every  other  night,"  Freeborn  admitted. 

The  Medical  Officer  and  the  transport  officer 
had  quarrelled.  I  think  one  had  put  the  other 
under  arrest  for  some  reason  or  another.     Exactly 


214       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

what  it  was  has  not  yet  been  estabhshed.  In 
the  afternoon  we  fell  out  in  a  thin  drizzle  of  rain, 
to  wait  some  hours  until  nightfall,  when  we  would 
move  on  toward  our  village. 

The  Medical  Officer  and  the  transport  officer 
were  still  at  loggerheads.  The  trouble  was  prob- 
ably the  water-carts;  they  never  could  agree 
exactly  to  whom  they  belonged,  or  what  position 
they  should  occupy  in  the  battalion  procession. 
When  we  moved  on  again,  we  met  with  other 
transport  on  the  road;  battalions  were  coming 
down  the  road  meeting  us,  and  in  the  rain  and 
dark,  the  difficulty  of  keeping  touch  with  the  rest 
of  the  battalion  in  front  of  us  was  increasingly 
severe.  The  climax  came  when  one  of  the  limbers 
lurched  suddenly  sideways,  and  slid  gently  into 
the  ditch.  The  air  was  blue  with  the  barking  of  the 
transport  officer  as  the  remainder  of  the  battalion 
disappeared  in  the  dark.  The  horses  scrambled 
and  plunged  as  they  struggled  to  extricate  the 
limber  from  the  mire,  but  without  result.  Poised 
at  a  reckless  angle,  threatening  to  upset  at  any 
moment,  it  refused  to  budge.  Then  help  came  from 
a  most  unexpected  quarter. 

'*  Let's  have  some  ropes,  Willie,  and  we'll  pull 
the  ruddy  thing  out  for  you."  It  was  the  Medical 
Officer  speaking.  Ropes  were  instantly  forth- 
coming and  tied  to  the  spokes  of  the  wheels.  The 
medical  detail  grabbed  hold,  the  horses  snorted 
and  hauled,  the  stretcher-bearers  pulled  and  tugged 


\ 


OUT  TO  GRASS  215 

and  man-liandled  the  deeply  sunk  wheels,  and  the 
limber  was  again  restored  to  its  proper  place  in 
the  centre  of  the  high-road. 

''  Thank  you,"  said  the  transport  officer.  Five 
minutes  later  an  irritable  Adjutant,  galloping 
down  the  high-road  at  imminent  risk  of  his  life, 
found  the  two  missing  officers,  seated  on  the  road- 
side with  their  feet  in  the  ditch  trying  to  squeeze 
a  second  drink  out  of  the  transport  officer's  flask. 

'*  Are  you  going  to  spend  the  whole  night  here  ?" 
Captain  Grosvenor  demanded  querulously. 

''  Not  now  that  you've  rolled  up  to  disturb  our 
peace,"  the  Medical  Officer  answered,  as  he  re- 
turned the  flask  to  its  owner  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

''  What  about  my  being  under  arrest  ?"  said  one 
of  the  two  officers  to  the  other,  as  the  Adjutant 
waited  impatiently  for  them  to  resume  their 
march. 

''  What  arrest  ?"  asked  the  other.  ''  I've  for- 
gotten." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  SERIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR 

The  Medical  0£&cer  and  the  transport  ofl&cer, 
under  the  watchful  eye  of  the  Adjutant,  now- 
resumed  their  march. 

''  Meddlesome  fellow  this  Adjutant  man,"  said 
the  Medical  Officer  to  the  transport  officer,  who 
was  silently  shuffiing  along  in  the  mud. 

The  transport  officer  said  nothing.  Probably 
he  felt  that  any  remarks  he  made  would  strain  too 
far  the  slender  framework  of  the  Adjutant's 
temper. 

Meantime  the  Adjutant  strafed  the  Medical 
Officer  and  the  transport  officer  indiscriminately, 
until  they  finally  began  to  feel  like  a  pair  of  school- 
boys caught  in  some  flagrant  misdemeanour. 

"  I  must  say.  Adj.,  I  don't  think  your  temper 
improves  with  the  rain.  I  shall  have  to  ask  the 
medical  detail  to  sing,  in  order  to  drown  your 
remarks,"  declared  the  Medical  Officer. 

''  Well,  you  two  may  have  been  quite  happy 
sitting  in  the  ditch  there,  but  what  about  our 
kits  and  rations  ?" 

''  Kits  and  rations  !     You  talk  to  us  of  kits 

216 


THE  SEKIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR  217 

and  rations,  when  two  of  your  smartest  ofEcers 
were  lost,  and  for  all  you  knew  to  the  contrary, 
might  have  been  lying  dead  on  the  roadside;  and 
all  you  want  is  kits  and  rations  !  Why,  we  might 
have  died  a  hundred  times,"  exclaimed  the  Medical 
Officer. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  transport  officer,  "  and  been 
buried  by  the  robins  like  the  babes  in  the  wood." 

"  If  you'd  come  along  and  found  two  decom- 
posing corpses  in  the  ditch,  then  you  might  have 
been  sorry,"  added  the  Doctor. 

"  I  thought  you  knew  the  way,"  said  the 
Adjutant,  who  now  appeared  more  anxious  to 
mollify  the  two  stragglers. 

"  Thought !  He  actually  thought !  !  Give  it 
up.  Leave  thinking  to  the  educated  classes — 
myself,  for  instance,  and  '  Pills  '  here,"  the  trans- 
port officer  suggested  loftily. 

*'Yes;  and  how,  may  I  ask,  could  we  be  ex- 
pected to  know  the  way,  when  the  Battalion 
Headquarters  keep  all  the  maps  ?"  the  Medical 
Officer  inquired. 

''  Well,  you  don't  know  how  to  read  a  map, 
anyhow,  so  you  don't  need  to  grumble." 

This  was  so  perfectly  true  that  the  Medical  Officer 
for  a  few  moments  was  reduced  to  silence,  thinking 
over  a  suitable  retort.  The  rain  meantime,  which 
had  for  some  hours  been  falling  with  a  steady 
drizzle,  now  attained  to  a  solid  downpour.  The 
three   officers,   followed   by   the    stretcher-bearers 


218       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

and  transport,  marched  on  in  silence,  splashing 
through  the  puddles  and  conscious  of  nothing  but 
the  general  wetness  of  their  surroundings,  and  the 
rain  which  drove  against  their  faces  and  found 
its  way  in  a  thin  trickle  down  their  necks. 

''  Certainly  the  German  Emperor  has  a  lot  to 
answer  for,  bringing  me  out  on  a  night  like  this," 
said  the  Medical  Officer,  as  a  sentry,  stationed  in 
front  of  a  nebulous  and  indistinct  farm-house, 
challenged  them  out  of  the  darkness. 

In  a  decayed  farm  they  found  the  Battalion 
Headquarters;  and  in  the  house  the  Colonel  had 
taken  up  his  quarters.  Companies  were  scattered 
round  in  dugouts,  which  some  maintained  to  be 
shell-proof,  but  which  were  just  as  certainly  not 
rain-proof.  The  headquarter  details  occupied  the 
various  barns  and  outhouses,  where  they  reposed 
in  different  degrees  of  sodden  discomfort.  Here 
they  lay  on  the  stone  floors  amid  the  wet  straw, 
while  the  rain  dripped  down  upon  them  through 
gigantic  holes  in  the  roof. 

The  Pompadours  were  in  support,  and  the 
orderly-room,  in  close  and  earnest  communication 
with  Brigade  Headquarters,  noted  down  an  ex- 
haustive programme  of  working  and  wiring  parties. 
On  our  left  the  Highland  Brigade,  reinforced 
since  the  disastrous  days  up  north,  were  reported 
to  be  attacking  some  letter  on  the  map  apparently 
agitative  to  the  minds  of  the  general  stafi.  Only 
a  letter  and  a  number — nothing  more.     Certainly 


THE  SERIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR  219 

there  appears  to  be  no  limit  to  the  usages  of 
modern  warfare,  but  really  this  seems  to  be  carrying 
the  thing  too  far.  The  other  ranks  one  has  had 
to  get  into  the  habit  of  regarding  as  so  many 
numbers;  the  horses  also  have  their  ciphers  seared 
into  their  hoofs;  even  the  waggons  are  indexed. 
But  now  we  have  to  accustom  ourselves  to  another 
form  of  nomenclature. 

A  spire  seen  on  the  horizon  ceases  to  be  known 
as  the  Church  of  Marins:  it  is  now  J.  34.  A  hill 
seen  for  the  first  time  in  the  distance,  we  are  in- 
formed, is  H.  15;  a  ruined  farm-house  beyond 
the  Hun  trenches  is  Y.  4.  On  the  present  occasion 
the  Highland  Brigade  are  concentrating  their 
attention  to  a  particular  spot  which  doubtless 
will  go  down  to  posterity  as  U.  2. 

We  wonder,  when  the  fight  is  over  and  the 
prizes  come  to  be  issued,  if  there  will  be  a  medal 
clasp  with  U.  2  written  on  it  ? 

"  A  rose  by  any  other  name  would  smell  as 
sweet."  So,  I  presume,  it's  just  as  satisfactory 
to  be  killed  storming  U.  2,  as  to  be  knocked  on  the 
head  climbing  up  the  Heights  of  Abraham.  Grave- 
lotte,  Austerlitz,  Balaclava,  Mars-la-Tour,  Vion- 
ville,  Borodino,  are  all  fine,  rolling,  high-sounding 
titles,  and  in  the  mention  of  them  there  is  some- 
thing of  the  rush  of  battle  and  the  thunder  of  big 
guns— but  U.  2  !  !     Help  ! 

I  ask  you,  does  it  not  sound  pathetic,  like  the 
chirping  of  a  chick  looking  for  its  mother  round 


220       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

the  edge  of  a  Belgian  midden  ?  It  rings  like  the 
title  of  one  of  Ouida's  books;  on  paper  it  looks 
like  an  answer  to  an  algebraic  problem;  and  on  a 
clasp — oh,  help  ! 

Yet  U.  2  has  a  meaning  of  its  own  to  our  High- 
land Brigade,  and  over  U.  2  more  good  Canadian 
lives  were  lost  than  at  Batosch,  Ticonderoga,  and 
Paardeburg  for  all  rolling  grandeur. 

The  Highlanders  were  not  alone  on  this  business 
— the  Eastern  Brigade  were  in  it,  too;  and  as  we 
sat  in  sloppy  discomfort  in  our  shattered  farm- 
house, the  guns — our  guns — roared  overhead,  and 
rifles  and  machine-guns  cracked  and  sputtered, 
as  the  attack  developed,  and  the  whirl  of  battle 
rolled  forward.  Of  course,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen;  there  seldom  is  in  a  modern  battle.  The 
more  interested  among  the  Pompadours,  and  that 
generally  meant  the  newly  joined,  paced  up  and 
down  the  high-road  watching  the  German  fire- 
works and  listening  to  the  guns  and  rifles. 

"  God  pity  us  poor  soldiers  on  a  night  like 
this  !"  murmured  War-horse  McMutchkin  as  he 
pulled  his  dripping  blanket  round  his  neck  in  a 
vain  attempt  at  slumber.  ''  What's  this  they've 
done,  cutting  off  the  rum  ration  ?  I  could  just 
do  with  a  hauf  yen." 

The  perfumed  stillness  of  the  spring  night,  as 
I  have  heard  it  called,  was  rent  with  the  roar 
of  cannonading,  yet  the  Pompadours  slept  sound 
and    undisturbed.     Two    thousand    yards    away 


THE  SERIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR  221 

a  very  pretty  battle  was  taking  place,  and  out 
there  in  the  flash  of  the  falling  lights  men  were 
dying;  but  it  was  not  our  scrap,  so  why  worry  ? 
Our  own  part  was  still  to  come,  so,  for  the  present, 
let  us  sleep,  dreamless  and  sound,  forgetful  of 
our  sodden  clothes  and  the  general  sloppiness  of 
our  surroundings.  There  will  be  work,  and  that 
in  plenty,  for  us  on  the  morrow. 

The  morrow  dawned,  and  with  the  dawn  came 
the  sun,  warming  us  and  drying  the  moisture 
from  our  wringing  clothes.  Under  the  fruit-trees, 
gay  with  the  blossom  of  apple  and  pear,  the 
orchard  had  the  appearance  of  a  gigantic  drying- 
shed.  Clothes  and  blankets  lay  everywhere  !  In 
the  stream  that  wandered  along  two  sides  of  the 
orchard  we  performed  our  toilets,  and  with  the 
sun  our  troubles  vanished  and  our  hopes  rose. 

In  front  of  us  lay  the  village  of  St.  Albert,  and 
as  the  day  wore  on,  working-parties,  armed  mth 
pick  and  shovel,  moved  down  the  road  to  carry 
out  the  behests  of  Brigade  Headquarters. 

For  most  of  us,  however,  it  was  a  day  of  rest, 
and  of  waiting. 

Behind  the  house  the  Medical  Officer  was  en- 
gaged, mixing  some  choice  decoction  in  a  biscuit- 
box. 

''  What  horror  is  that  you're  playing  with  ?" 
asked  Captain  Wales,  as  he  passed,  going  in  the 
direction  of  the  orderly-room. 

Bill   Mavis,   now   promoted   to   the   dignity   of 


222       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

sanitary  policeman,  sniffed  audibly,  as  he  appeared 
to  study  the  foliage  of  an  overhanging  bough  of  an 
adjacent  apple-tree. 

"  Some  dope  for  sick  'orses,  that  is;  'e's  not  an 
'orspital  docter — 'e's  an  'orse  docter." 

*'  This  is  the  very  latest,  old  thing — straight 
from  the  stables,"  remarked  the  Medical  Officer 
in  answer  to  Captain  Wales's  question. 

''  I  thaut  so,  a-'andling  sick  'orses  'e  is,"  mur- 
mured the  sanitary  policeman  to  the  apple-tree. 

''  What  the  devil  are  you  mumbling  about, 
Mavis  ?  What  are  you  doing  there — looking  for 
birds'-nests  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  no  birds'-nests  in  this  'ere  tree.  I 
thaut  that  there  might  be  the  dope  you  give 
me  on  board  ship  w'ere  I  'ad  a  sore  back." 

''  Go  and  build  an  incinerator,  and  when  you've 
done  that  dig  a  garbage  pit,  and  then  go  and 
construct  a  swill  sink;  and  then,  if  you're  not  dead 
from  exhaustion,  you  can  go  birds'-nesting.     Only 

go." 

"  That  creature,"  said  the  indignant  Medical 
Officer  to  Captain  Wales,  ''  worries  me.  He's 
always  messing  round  the  horse  lines,  and  when 
he  finds  one  of  them  sick  he  comes  for  me.  I 
believe  he  thinks  I'm  a  vet." 

''  Well,  he's  probably  judging  by  the  way  you 
treated  him.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he's  right. 
But  what's  this  mess  ?" 

"'  Mess  ?     Nothing;  this  is  for  the  respirators." 


THE  SERIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR  223 

''  What — have  I  got  to  shove  my  nose  into 
that  ?" 

''  Yes,  certainly." 

So  it  was  the  case.  Already  within  a  few  weeks 
of  the  first  gas  attack,  everybody  had  been  pro- 
vided with  respirators;  flimsy,  inadequate  con- 
trivances they  appear  to  us  now  in  comparison 
with  the  well-conceived  apparatus  with  which  we 
are  these  days  supplied,  yet,  as  it  happened, 
wonderfully  efficient. 

These  respirators,  made  of  cotton  waste  and 
widow's  weeds,  had  to  be  dipped  periodically  in 
solution,  and  it  was  this  noisome  mixture  which 
at  the  moment  our  quack  was  experimenting  with. 
The  Doctor  was  perusing  a  blue  paper  held  firmly 
in  the  right  hand,  while  his  attendant  minions, 
armed  with  sundry  wooden  boxes  and  sandbags 
and  a  large  tin  can,  added  the  various  ingredients 
as  the  difierent  amounts  of  chemicals  were  read  out. 

Captain  Wales  was  perfectly  right:  it  certainly 
looked  a  mess. 

''  Um  !  I  suppose  it's  all  right,"  the  Medical 
Officer  remarked  doubtfully.  ''  It  certainly  does 
look  like  sheep-dip;  I  wonder  if  the  blue  paper's 
all  right?" 

*'  It  looks  a  bit  queer,"  Private  Lavigne  agreed, 
as  he  reflectively  stirred  the  contents  of  the  biscuit- 
box  around  with  a  broom-handle.  ''  Private  Mavis 
was  a-sayin' " 


Private  Mavis  is  at  present  digging  a  refuse 


224       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

pit  for  saying  too  much;  and  if  you  mention  his 
name  in  my  presence,  you'll  go  and  join  him.  Go 
and  tell  Captain  Wales  we're  ready  to  commence 
the  dipping."  Perhaps  it  was  the  sun,  but  the 
Medical  Officer  was  certainly  very  short-tempered  ! 

The  companies  filed  past,  dipping  their  respirators 
in  the  fluid,  and  the  colour  in  the  mournful  crepe 
dyed  the  contents  of  the  biscuit-tin  so  that  it 
became  tinted  like  an  ink-bottle.  Major  Meldrum 
— who  was  no  longer  a  Major,  but  a  Lieutenant- 
Colonel — stood  by  watching,  while  the  men  wetted 
their  respirators.  Some  of  the  reinforcements 
may  have  been  at  first  inclined  to  wonder  at  the 
amount  of  interest  displayed  by  the  senior  officers 
in  this  process,  but  those  same  officers  had  still 
very  freshly  in  their  minds  the  memory  of  those 
days  not  yet  a  month  ago.  They  had  seen  the 
insidious  ravages  of  that  silent  creeping  green 
cloud,  and  had  watched  their  blue-faced  men 
coughing,  gasping,  and  dying  in  its  suffocating 
grasp.  Surely  they  had  good  cause  to  take  an 
interest. 

That  night  there  were  working-parties,  and 
''  C  "  and  "  D  "  Company  marched  through  the 
village  of  St.  Albert  just  before  dark;  and  the 
Bosches,  to  keep  things  lively,  squirted  the  main 
street  with  shrapnel.  Captain  Wales,  who  was 
leading,  ordered  the  men  to  double  through  this 
zone  of  unhealthiness,  and  the  Medical  Officer, 
who  was  following  behind  with  some  of  his  body- 


THE  SERIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR  225 

snatchers  and  a  wheeled  stretcher,  heavily  loaded 
with  various  articles  of  his  craft,  was  left  hopelessly 
in  the  rear. 

''  I  thought  it  sed  in  the  Harmy  Hact  that  the 
rite  of  march  was  reg'lated  by  the  slowest  soldier," 
remarked  Private  Lavigne. 

''  So  it  iss,  my  boy,"  assented  the  War-horse. 

''  Well,  this  ruddy  harmy's  runaway  an'  left  us." 

''  I  guess  they  don't  couLt  us  as  soldiers;  we're 
only  details — goldarned  corpse-revivers,"  com- 
mented Private  Freeborn. 

The  stretcher-bearers  sheltered  under  the  lee  of 
the  gable  of  a  house  until  the  rainstorm  of  metal 
quieted  down — that  is,  with  the  exception  of  the 
War-horse  and  Freeborn.  On  an  order  from  the 
Medical  Officer,  they  doubled  through  the  ruined 
village  in  the  wake  of  the  companies,  to  render 
such  help  as  was  possible  in  case  of  accidents. 
Presently  the  shelling  quieted  down,  and  the  wheeled 
stretcher  resumed  its  interrupted  progress.  The 
street  was  long  and  straggling,  and  in  the  struggling 
moonlight  showed  ample  evidence  of  the  treatment 
that  had  been  meted  out  to  it  in  the  preceding 
months.  Hardly  a  house  appeared  to  have  a  roof, 
and  some,  in  their  tottering  downfall,  lay  sprawling 
across  the  street. 

The  artillery  was  for  the  moment  silent,  but 
from  the  left  came  a  continuous  patter  of  rifle-fire. 
Occasionally  a  stray  bullet,  finding  a  gap  between 
two  houses,  flicked  across  the  street,  but  for  the 

15 


226       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

most  part  the  stretcher-bearers  progressed  in  com- 
parative security. 

A  tall  figure  suddenly  appeared  in  the  middle 
of  the  fairway  in  front,  pausing  from  time  to  time 
to  look  around  him  or  to  gaze  upwards  to  the 
sky. 

"  Hullo,  Padre  !"  exclaimed  the  Medical  Officer; 
*'  are  you  lost  ?" 

''  No,  Fm  just  admiring  the  beautiful  stars." 

"  Oh,  then  you  must  be  lost." 

''  No,  I'm  just  enjoying  the  night." 

''  Grawd  !  'e  must  'ave  been  drinking,"  remarked 
the  irresponsible  Lavigne  in  an  undertone.  ''  Found 
some  rum,  'e  'as." 

''  I  was  just  locating  the  positions  of  the  dressing- 
stations,"  continued  the  godly  one;  *'  one  never 
knows  when  such  knowledge  will  be  useful.  Where 
are  you  to  be  ?" 

"  Please,  sir,  I  feel  awful  queer,"  suddenly  com- 
plained Lavigne,  confronting  the  Medical  Officer. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

''  Dunno,  sir;  I've  gone  faint  all  over." 

''  Turn  round  to  the  light." 

In  the  pallid  light  of  the  fitful  moonbeams  the 
upturned  face  certainly  did  look  white ;  furthermore, 
the  sufferer  was  making  a  variety  of  regurgitative 
rumblings  in  his  throat,  which  seemed  to  come 
from  deep  down  in  his  interior. 

''  My  poor  boy  !"  said  the  kind-hearted  Parson, 
putting  his  arm  round  the  now  tottering  private. 


THE  SEEIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAK  227 

''  Here,  sit  down,  while  I  give  you  a  little 
stimulant." 

Without  further  invitation  Private  Lavigne 
seated  himself  on  a  fragment  of  broken  masonry, 
and  idly  and  expectantly  regarded  the  clergyman, 
who  now  produced  a  metal  flask  from  his  hip- 
pocket. 

Then  McSpeldron,  from  his  place  between  the 
handles  of  the  stretcher,  surveyed  the  scene  in 
speechless  amazement,  while  wonder  at  Lavigne's 
duplicity,  and  annoyance  at  his  own  want  of 
initiation,  struggled  for  mastery  in  his  breast. 

''Here,  take  a  sip  of  this,"  said  the  Padre.  The 
flask  changed  hands,  was  eagerly  clutched,  and  the 
rapidity  with  which  it  was  carried  to  the  sick  man's 
lips  seemed  to  argue  a  small  degree  of  faintness. 

''  Ugh  !  It's  'ot;  it's  burning  me  ";  and  the  flask 
fell  on  the  road. 

"  What's  the  brand,  Padre  ?"  asked  the  Medical 
Officer  as  Lavigne  struggled  to  his  feet. 

"Spirits  of  ammonia;  I  told  him  just  to  take 
a  sip." 

''  Feel  better  already,  don't  you,  Lavigne  ?" 
The  Medical  Officer  turned  to  the  now  rapidly 
recovering  patient.  *'  How  about  relieving  Mc- 
Speldron in  the  shafts  ?  Good-night,  Padre;  I'll 
be  careful  how  I  accept  drinks  from  you  in  future. 
Fall  in.  Medical  Detail;  get  a  move  on." 

Just  beyond  the  cross-roads  was  situated  the 
regimental  aid  post  of  the  Prairie  Eifles.     Here 


228       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

they  found  Captain  Wales  nursing  a  bullet  in  his 
right  arm.  On  entering  the  village  he  had  been 
hit  by  the  first  burst  of  shrapnel,  but  continued 
to  lead  his  company  until  he  fell  in  with  the 
Engineer  officer  who  was  supervising  the  work  for 
the  night.  Having  found  his  objective,  and  not 
before,  he  handed  over  the  working-party  to  the 
second  in  command,  and  then  sought  the  dressing- 
station. 

"  Hullo,  Pills  !  This  ought  to  be  good  for  a 
month  or  two." 

*'  Beast !"  rejoined  the  Medical  Officer  without 
a  trace  of  good  manners.  ''  Some  people  certainly 
seem  to  have  all  the  luck." 

"  Yes,  it's  certainly  a  peach,"  remarked  the 
Doctor  of  the  Prairie  Rifles,  as  he  finished  binding 
up  the  wounded  extremity.  ''  Missed  the  bone 
missed  the  artery,  and  ought  to  be  good  for  two 
months  up  the  river  at  least.  Think  of  the  river 
in  June,  my  lad." 

Outside  on  the  road  the  stretcher-bearers  waited 
with  the  wheeled  stretcher,  The  McSpeldron  grimly 
reminiscent  at  the  thought  of  Lavigne's  unsuccess- 
ful endeavour  to  obtain  spirituous  comfort  from 
the  man  of  God,  while  the  other  sat  against 
the  wall  sucking  the  inevitable  "  as  you  were  " 
cigarette. 

"  S'pose  we're  'ere  for  the  next  'arf-'our  ?  Gone 
in  for  a  drink,  'e  'as." 

''  What    would   you    be    wanting    now,    Alfred 


THE  SERIOUS  SIDE  OF  WAR  229 

Lavigiie  ?  What  would  you  say  to  another  drop 
out  of  the  Parson's  bottle  ?"  questioned  the  polite 
McSpeldron. 

Before  the  querulous  Lavigne  could  reply  to 
this  intended  insult,  the  door  of  the  dressing- 
station  opened  and  the  Medical  Officer  again 
appeared. 

''  Hullo,  Lavigne  !  I  thought  you  told  me  a 
short  time  ago  that  you  were  feeling  ill?  You 
must  be  better  if  you're  able  to  smoke  one  of  those 
coffin-nails." 

''  I'm  still  abaht  'arf  dead,  but  " — this  with  the 
air  of  a  hero — "  I'll  try  to  carry  on  " — struggling 
to  his  feet. 

*'  Good.  Well,  what  you  want  is  a  little  gentle 
walk  to  cool  your  brow." 

''  'Ow  d'yer  mean  ?" 

"This.  Over  there "  — the  Medical  Officer 
vaguely  indicated  the  country-side  which  receded 
in  the  darkness  towards  Germany — "  our  two 
companies  are  digging  a  trench.  You  will  go  over 
there,  give  Lieutenant  Allonby  this  note,  and  send 
back  Private  Freeborn  with  an  answer.  You  will 
remain  with  Private  McMutchkin  and  look  after 
anyone  who  happens  to  get  hurt." 

"  'Orl  right;  but  supposin'  I  die  on  the 
way  ?" 

"  You  won't  die ;  but  if  you  do,  we'll  have  you 
carefully  embalmed  and  give  you  a  grand  funeral. 
I  dare  say  McSpeldron  will  lend  you  his  cross"; 


230       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

and    the    doctor    again    disappeared    inside    the 
dressing-station. 

"  'E  ain't  got  no  'art.  I  guess  Bill  Mavis  is 
abaht  right:  'e  ought  to  look  after  sick  'orses. 
'Orses  ?  Naw.  Sick  pigs  is  abaht  'is  mark  ";  and 
silently  and  sorrowfully  the  deeply  injured  Lavigne 
departed  into  the  palpitating  darkness. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE  GREY  MAN 

"This  place  ought  to  do  all  right,  Sergeant  Bowden? 
It's  the  only  place  we've  seen  with  a  roof,"  remarked 
the  Medical  Officer,  as  the  stretcher-bearers  came 
to  a  halt. 

In  the  grey  dawn  the  medical  detail  hovered  in 
a  state  of  yawning  expectancy  outside  a  small 
house,  which  appeared  to  be  an  appendage  of  a 
long,  low,  roofless  building  facing  the  main  road 
of  St.  Albert.  Here  had  been  the  Bosche,  as  the 
loopholed  walls  and  the  ornamental  trellis-work 
of  barbed  wire  facing  to  the  west  bore  witness  to  : 
but  here  had  also  been  the  British,  and  at  a  more 
recent  date,  as  the  gaps  in  the  defences  showed. 

To  the  east,  across  half  a  mile  of  open  country, 
lay  the  trenches,  stretching  like  a  great  wall  of 
China  across  the  landscape.  For  here  the  ground 
was  soft,  and  the  trench  was  no  trench  at  all,  but 
a  barricade.  It  was  over  and  beyond  this  rampart 
that  the  events  of  the  day  were  to  materialize, 
and  therefore  the  Medical  Officer  stuck  out  his 
shingle  in  the  main  street,  and  waited  the  arrival 

of  his  patients. 

231 


232       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEKS  FIELDS 

The  Brigade  was  attacking  at  dawn,  and  already 
the  wave  of  the  artillery  preparation  was  breaking 
itself  against  the  German  front  line. 

The  stretcher-bearers  were  busy  carrying  in 
their  various  stage  properties,  which  the  sergeant, 
who  was  always  a  martinet  for  neatness,  proceeded 
to  pile  in  well-dressed  rows.  At  the  back  of  the 
house  the  crackle  of  burning  sticks  betokened  the 
fact  that  the  cook  had  already  lighted  a  fire  in 
anticipation  of  a  morning  cup  of  tea.  Private 
McMutchkin,  armed  with  a  borrowed  broom,  was 
sweeping  out  the  new  dressing-station,  while  The 
McSpeldron  and  Freeborn  bent  their  backs  as  they 
moved  the  biscuit-box  containing  the  day's  rations 
from  the  wheeled  stretcher  to  the  cook's  fire. 

A  pallid  dawn,  with  the  gloomy  clouds  reluctantly 
turning  to  a  mournful  grey.  A  misty,  ominous 
morning,  with  threatening  cloud-banks  in  the 
western  sky. 

The  Medical  Officer,  standing  in  the  doorway, 
surveyed  the  shattered  bleakness  of  the  village 
street  in  silence.  Along  the  road  coming  from 
the  trenches  three  men  were  advancing,  the  cloudy 
mistiness  rendering  them  indistinct  in  the  growing 
light.  Gradually,  as  they  approached,  the  details 
became  more  distinct.  Two  of  the  figures  were  in 
khaki;  the  third,  walking  slightly  in  front,  was 
dressed  in  grey  of  a  blurred  indefiniteness,  which 
seemed  to  fade  away  in  the  general  dulness  of  the 
surroundings. 


THE  GREY  MAN  233 

"  Ha,  a  German  prisoner  !"  remarked  the  Medical 
Officer;  ''  Sergeant  Bowden,  tell  the  cook  that  we'll 
be  having  guests  for  breakfast." 

The  three  figures  drew  nearer,  the  grey  man 
leading,  with  his  chest  thrown  out  and  his  head 
held  high.  He  appeared  pompous  rather  than 
defiant,  and  walked  with  his  toes  turned  far  out, 
as  if  his  boots  hurt  him.  On  his  head  was  perched 
a  small  brown  cap  edged  with  red,  and  he  was 
enveloped  in  a  long  grey  coat  that  bore  a  strange 
resemblance  to  a  dressing-gown.  A  pair  of  high 
boots,  which  seemed  many  sizes  too  large  for  him, 
completed  his  costume,  and  his  left  hand  was 
bound  in  a  bandage. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  the  Medical  Officer. 
"  Come  inside.  Where  are  you  taking  him  to, 
corporal  ?" — this  to  the  N.C.O.  from  the  Assini- 
boians  who  was  in  charge,  and  who,  along  with 
the  other  escort,  was  standing  leaning  on  his  rifle. 

''  To  Brigade  Headquarters." 

*'  Well,  what  about  a  cup  of  tea  while  we  dress 
his  wound  ?  You  all  look  as  if  it  wouldn't  harm 
you." 

"  What  about  it  ?"  answered  the  corporal,  as 
they  entered  the  dressing-station. 

Inside,  the  three  guests  were  provided  with 
seats  on  a  long  bench.  The  German  at  first 
appeared  undecided  as  to  what  was  expected  of 
him.  He  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  dressed 
in  his  preposterous  greatcoat,  eyeing  the  khaki- 


234       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDEKS  FIELDS 

clad  figures  around  him  with  interest  and  expecta- 
tion. His  uniform  was  plastered  with  mud,  and 
he  certainly  had  a  most  wonderful  black  eye.  It 
clung  to  his  cheek,  swollen  and  purple  like  an 
overripe  damson.  For  the  rest  he  was  unshaven, 
and  had  been  for  weeks,  with  a  long  brown  beard 
like  an  Assyrian  king's. 

*'  Where  did  you  get  him  V  asked  the  Medical 
Officer  of  the  corporal. 

"Who?     Whiskers  here  ?'' 

''  Yes,  Whiskers  here,  if  by  that  you  mean  your 
prisoner." 

''  We  got  him  in  the  trench  which  the  Assiniboians 
attacked  this  morning.  He  was  asleep  when  we  took 
the  trench,  and  woke  up  to  find  we'd  got  him." 

"  A  cheerful  awakening,"  commented  the  Medical 
Officer;  then,  turning  to  the  prisoner:  "  Why  don't 
you  sit  down  ?" 

The  prisoner  indicated  that  it  was  not  the  custom 
to  sit  down  in  his  country  in  the  presence  of  an 
officer. 

''  Nonsense,"  said  the  Medical  Officer.  ''  You're 
not  in  Germany  now.  What  will  you  drink — tea, 
coffee,  cocoa,  or  bovril  ?  You'd  better  take 
tea  ;  I've  taught  them  how  to  make  it."  It 
took  time,  I  confess,  to  convince  the  cook  that 
tea  is  an  infusion  and  not  the  usual  vile  de- 
coction which  simmers  on  the  fire  for  half  the  day, 
and  tans  your  stomach  into  boot-leather." 

The   prisoner  probably   comprehended    only   a 


THE  GREY  MAN  23S 

small  part  of  the  foregoing  harangue,  but  con- 
descended to  take  tea. 

*'  Have  some  rum  in  it  ?  I  believe  it's  a  custom 
in  your  country." 

At  that  moment  Lieutenant  Ridge,  our  bombing 
officer,  appeared  in  the  doorway,  his  head  in  a 
sling  and  his  uniform  in  tatters.  He  smiled 
cheerfully  to  the  company. 

"  Hullo,  Doctor  !     Can  you  fix  me  up  ?" 

"  Certainly;  only  I  would  suggest  a  tailor's 
shop.     What  happened  ?" 

''  Oh,  we  were  a  preliminary  bombing  attack, 
and  got  rather  roughly  handled;  I  know  I'm 
wounded  in  the  back,  and  I  think  in  the  side  too, 
and  I  had  my  clothes  nearly  blown  off  me." 

Lieutenant  Ridge  on  a  chair,  and  the  prisoner 
on  the  bench,  had  their  wounds  bound  up  at  the 
same  time. 

''  Where  do  you  come  from  ?"  asked  the  smiling 
Lieutenant  in  faultless  German. 

"  From  over  there  " — indicating  the  trenches. 

"  Yes,  no  doubt;  so  do  I,  for  that  matter.  But 
which  part  of  Germany  ?     What  city  ?" 

''  From  Blankenburg  in  the  Hartz  Mountains." 

At  once  the  Lieutenant's  thoughts  went  back 
to  a  period  many  years  before.  He  remembered 
a  certain  small  boy  who  had  lived  in  a  small  country 
town  in  Germany  and  attended  the  local  school. 

*'  What  is  your  name  ?" 

''  Heinrich  Schenck." 


236        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''  It  can't  be,  and  yet  it  must,"  murmured 
Lieutenant  Ridge:  ''  the  son  of  the  watchmaker." 
And  again  he  remembered  how,  during  the  days 
at  the  commencement  of  the  South  African  War, 
and  more  especially  during  that  time  w^hich  was 
known  as  the  black  week,  he  had  felt  the  pangs 
of  utter  loneliness.  How  the  stupid,  clumsy 
German  youths  around  him  had  rejoiced  at  the 
check  which  the  British  arms  had  received,  and 
how  the  schoolmasters  had  made  no  effort  to  hide 
their  own  and  their  charges'  jubilation  over  the 
series  of  disasters  on  the  Modder  and  at  Colenso. 
There  was  only  one  sympathizer  in  the  town  to 
whom  he  could  talk  during  those  bad  days,  and 
that  was  a  certain  Heinrich  Schenck,  the  son  of 
a  watchmaker.  Well,  that  was  many  years  ago, 
and  there  seemed  very  little  resemblance  between 
the  dirty,  frowsy  German  infantryman,  nursing  his 
wound  and  sipping  his  cup  of  tea,  and  the  idle, 
jaunty  Heinrich  in  the  gorgeous  Berlin  raiment 
who  had  been  at  once  the  delight  of  the  girls  of 
Blankenburg  and  the  despair  of  his  parents. 

The  Lieutenant  wondered,  could  this  be  the 
same  Heinrich  who  alone  in  the  town  showed  him 
any  kindness  during  the  black  week  ?  When  even 
Georg,  the  little  Danish  ally  who  used  to  cover 
his  copybooks  with  wonderful  drawings  of  Danish 
cuirassiers  hewing  their  way  through  crowds  of 
Prussian  infantry,  gave  up  his  favourite  pursuit 
and  occupied  himself  drawing  entirely  imaginary 


THE  GREY  MAN  237 

and  utterly  grotesque  Highlanders  retreating  before 
faultlessly  attired  Dutch  farmers.     Georg  was  never 
impartial  in  his  drawings;  the  Danish  cuirassiers 
had  always  been  depicted  with  regular  features 
and  wonderfully  symmetrical  figures,  so  the  Boers 
appeared  in  turn   clean-shaven,   with   their  nails 
neatly  manicured,  and  their  boots  carefully  black- 
ened.    The  Highlanders,  however,  shared  the  lot 
of  their  German  predecessors,  although,  whereas 
the  latter  showed  a  tendency  to  rotundity  and 
shortness  of  limb,  the  former  ran  rather  to  a  half- 
starved  lankiness.     In  any  case,   the  result  had 
been  unfortunate  for  the  lonely  schoolboy.     Georg, 
honoured  and  feted  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy 
whom  he  had  formerly  ridiculed,  and  forgetful  of 
his  alliance,  added  greatly  to  the  weight  of  his 
afflictions.     It  was  then,  the  Lieutenant  reflected, 
that  Heinrich,  divining  the  utter  loneliness  of  the 
small  exile,  came  to  his  assistance,  going  out  of  his 
way  to  do  him  a  kindness. 

Heinrich  and  little  Marie.  For  the  moment  he 
had  forgotten  Marie. 

''  When  am  I  going  to  be  shot  ?"  It  was  the 
prisoner  who  spoke. 

''  Shot  ?"  answered  the  Lieutenant.  '*  Shot  ? 
Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

The  prisoner  seemed  at  first  uncertain  as  to 
how  he  should  answer  this  last  question;  finally 
he  ventured:  ''  Our  officers  told  us  the  British 
killed  all  their  prisoners." 


238       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''  And  are  your  wonderful  officers  always  correct 
in  everything  they  tell  you  ?"  remarked  the  Medical 
Officer,  who  had  overheard  this  part  of  the  con- 
versation, and  rather  prided  himself  on  his  know- 
ledge of  the  German  tongue. 

'*  No,  not  always." 

''  Well,  it  may  interest  you  to  know  that  you're 
not  going  to  be  shot.  Your  troubles  are  now  over, 
and  presently  you  will  be  sent  to  Great  Britain." 
The  Medical  Officer  never  would  allow  that  such 
a  place  as  England  existed.  ''  You'll  get  three 
square  meals  a  day  and  the  joy  of  living  in  the 
Isle  of  Man.  Think  of  it !  Douglas  and  the 
Christy  Minstrels,  and  Pierrots  on  the  pierhead  in 
the  evening,  and  the  trippers  looking  at  you 
through  the  bars  as  you  wander  round  the  bullpen. 
You'll  just  be  in  time  for  the  summer  season. 
Allow  me  to  congratulate  you.  Your  chances 
of  dying  of  old  age  are  much  rosier  than 
mine." 

''  Shut  up.  Doctor,  and  let  me  get  a  word  in," 
said  Lieutenant  Eidge.  ''  How  is  Fraulein  Marie 
Momme  ?" 

"  Fraulein  Momme  ?  Why,  she  is  quite  well; 
but  she  is  no  longer  Momme,  she  is  BraumuUer." 

''  What,  do  you  mean  to  say  she  married  the 
innkeeper  ?     Poor  Marie  !" 

"  Did  you  know  her  ?  It  was  considered  a  good 
match.  She  had  no  money;  he  had  plenty.  They 
are  rich,  and  she  has  four  children." 


THE  GKEY  MAN  239 

"  Yes,  and  he  was  fifty-six  inches  round  the 
waistbelt — more  German  f rightfulness.  Heavens  ! 
he  was  an  ugly  swine." 

The  prisoner  was  rapidly  getting  over  his  first 
appearance  of  alarm,  and  betrayed  a  certain 
interest  in  Ridge's  remarks. 

*'  Well,  tell  me,  what  of  her  father,  Herr  Momme  ? 
Does  he  still  make  the  same  wonderful  cherry 
tarts  that  he  used  to  ?" 

''  No,  he's  dead  since  four  years." 

"  And  she  very  imprudently  married  the  barber, 
I  mean  the  publican.  Poor  Mariechen  !  We  used 
to  get  up  at  4  a.m.  and  gather  cherries  for  her 
father's  tarts.  I  was  very  much  in  love  those 
days,"  the  Lieutenant  murmured.  ''  Do  you 
remember  your  lessons  in  English  from  Frau 
Goette  ?"  he  added  aloud. 

''  What  English  lessons  ?  How  comes  it  that 
you  know  ?" 

"  Know  ?  Why,  the  British  Army  knows  every- 
thing. Didn't  you  know  our  intelligence  system 
was  perfect  ?" 

''  Yes,  but  how  do  you  know  about  Frau  Goette, 
Herr  BraumuUer,  and  the  rest  ?" 

''  That  is  all  part  of  our  system." 

"  Ah  !     So,"  answered  the  German. 

'*  Now  tell  me.  Who's  winning  this  war — we 
or  you  ?" 

''  I  think  we  win." 

''  Why  do  you  think  so  ?" 


240        MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  Well,  our  officers  tell  us  so,  and  our  papers 
say  the  same  thing." 

"  But  you  surely  don't  believe  either  the  one  or 
the  other  ?     What  do  you  think  yourself  ?" 

''  Well,  one  doubts  at  times  very  much." 

"  Look  at  these  soldiers  here."  The  Doctor 
was  busy  bandaging  up  a  wounded  man,  but  on 
hearing  Lieutenant  Ridge's  remark,  paused  and 
listened  to  the  conversation,  filled  with  pride  at 
hearing  his  stretcher-bearers  thus  classified  as 
soldiers.  "  They  all  look  as  though  they  are 
enjoying  themselves.  Remember,  they  are  all 
volunteers." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Medical  Officer,  as  he  finished 
the  bandaging,  "  have  a  look  here  " — pointing  to 
the  rations  for  his  twenty  men  and  lying  like  a 
stoat.  ''  That's  a  day's  rations  for  eight  men. 
Look  at  that  beef,  the  finest  sirloin  steak."  In 
turn  he  demonstrated  the  bread,  the  butter,  the 
bacon,  and  jam. 

"  Here's  the  daily  paper  printed  yesterday 
morning  in  London,  and  we  get  letters  every  day. 
Can  you  beat  that  ?" 

''  No,  we  do  not  do  that;  we  only  receive  letters 
twice  a  week,  and  I  have  not  seen  a  paper  for  a 
fortnight." 

"  Then  you  aren't  exactly  enjoying  the  war 
over  there  ?"  the  Lieutenant  continued. 

"  No,  that,  not.  But  how  comes  it  that  you 
know  all  about  Blankenburg  and  the  people  there  ?" 


THE  GREY  MAN  241 

''  Ah,  that  I  told  you  is  all  part  of  our  noble 
intelligence  scheme,"  remarked  the  Lieutenant, 
rising.  ''  Say,  Doc,  is  my  back  bound  up  suffi- 
ciently to  allow  me  to  return  to  the  fray  ?" 

''  You're  not  returning  to  any  fray,"  answered 
the  Doctor,  dwelling  ponderously  on  the  necessity 
for  anti-tetanus  and  a  trip  to  Blighty. 

''  Well,  but  I'm  all  right,"  remonstrated  the 
wounded  one. 

"  Yes,  you're  just  fine  for  a  base  hospital  and 
a  trip  across  the  Channel.  When  you're  floating 
about  on  the  river  with  a  nice  girl,  you  can  think 
of  me  in  a  cellar,  among  all  this  smell  and  mess. 
''  There's  your  ticket;  I've  given  you  a  red  one, 
so  they'll  fuss  round  you  a  bit  more." 

Finally  the  Lieutenant  consented  to  have  the 
way  to  the  field  ambulance  pointed  out  to  him. 

''  I'll  look  in  at  Brigade  as  I  pass  and  give  Ainslie 
and  Theophilus  the  glad  hand." 

The  prisoner  and  his  escort  had  already  taken 
their  departure,  and  Lieutenant  Ridge  was  about 
to  follow. 

''  Say,  Doc,  think  I  impressed  Fritz  by  my 
knowledge  of  his  home  town  ?" 

''  Somewhat.     How  did  you  do  it  ?" 

''  I  happened  to  be  at  school  there.  Eighteen 
years  ago  I  and  that  whiskered  gentleman  were 
great  friends." 

''  I  don't  think  much  of  your  taste." 

''  Oh,  he  was  shaved  in  those  days." 

16 


242       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

''  Well,  you  are  a  priceless  humbug;  you  might 
have  told  him." 

*'  I  don't  feel  much  inclined  to  tell  a  German 
anything  these  days,  except  what  would  probably 
shock  you  if  you  heard  it." 

''  Pity  we  couldn't  have  let  him  loose  and 
sent  back  to  his  pals.  He'd  have  seen  what  a 
splendid  bunch  of  stretcher-bearers  I  have." 

''  Yes,  that  spiel  of  yours  about  the  rations 
and  the  morning  papers  fairly  got  him  going." 

''  Yes,  if  he  told  them  about  our  grub,  they'd 
be  following  the  rats  across  to  our  trenches  in  search 
of  better  rations." 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Pills." 

''  Good-bye,  old  thing.  Give  my  regards  to 
Leicester  Square  and  my  love  to  all  the  fair  ones." 

Down  the  village  street  Lieutenant  Eidge  over- 
took the  German  prisoner,  marching  along  stolidly 
in  front  of  his  escort. 

"  Let  me  see:  you  were  exempt  from  military 
service  on  account  of  flat  feet  and  varicose  veins  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  how  ?" 

"Never  mind,  Heinrich;  apres  la  guerre," 
answered  the  Lieutenant  as  he  departed  on  his 
way. 


CHAPTER  XV 
GATHEEING  IN  THE  SHEAVES 

The  Padre  had  arrived  at  the  dressing-station,  and 
proceeded  to  unpack  a  collection  of  sandbags  with 
which  he  was  burdened,  displaying  a  variety  of 
canonical  comforts,  hot-water  bottles,  sleeping- 
socks,  Bibles,  and  the  like.  He  was  in  rather  a 
perturbed  state  of  mind.  He  wanted  to  go  up  to 
the  front  line,  but  certain  considerations  deterred 
him.  In  his  pocket  was  the  latest  blossom  of 
his  genius — a  poem  about  the  Kaiser,  and  he  had 
no  desire  to  fall  into  an  unappreciative  enemy's 
hands  with  it  in  his  possession. 

''  What's  it  all  about,  Padre  ?"  said  the  Medical 
Ofhcer.  ''  Read  it  to  the  wounded  chaps  here; 
it  will  do  them  good." 

The  Padre  consented  to  comply  with  this 
request,  and  produced  the  priceless  gem.  After 
a  few  lines  the  Medical  Officer  halted  him  abruptly. 

"That's  enough  for  the  present;  you'd  better 
stop,  or  all  the  wounds  will  go  septic." 

''  Well,  may  I  give  it  to  one  of  the  wounded  to 
take  with  him  to  hospital,  and  then,  when  things  are 
quieter,  he  can  send  it  back  to  me,"  said  the  Padre. 

243 


244       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

None  of  the  wounded  were  having  any,  so  the 
man  of  God  was  in  a  hopeless  dilemma.  He 
wanted  to  go  to  the  trenches,  but  feared  what 
might  happen  to  him  if  an  enemy,  lacking  in  a 
sense  of  humour,  found  the  manuscript  in  his 
pocket. 

''  Nothing  for  it.  Padre,  but  to  learn  it  off  by 
heart  and  swallow  it,"  the  Medical  Officer  re- 
marked. 

Finally  a  compromise  was  reached;  the  Padre 
retained  his  manuscript  and  remained  in  the 
dressing-station  labelling  the  wounded,  and  direct- 
ing the  ambulance  cars  outside.  At  this  he  is 
singularly  adept ;  he  must  have  served  his  novitiate 
in  the  New  York  Police.  Also  he  is  good  at  the 
labelling  business,  and  the  clear,  firm  hand  with 
which  he  writes  his  sermons,  for  he  is  a  clergyman 
and  not  a  meenister,  had  entered  up  a  multitude 
of  woe. 

Meantime  the  fight  progresses.  Colonel  Meldrum 
at  the  corner  of  Yew  Street,  seated  behind  a  straw- 
stack,  directs  the  operations,  for  at  the  moment 
the  Officer  Commanding  the  Assiniboians  has  been 
laid  out.  Down  on  the  road  beside  the  stack  are 
the  remains  of  four  men  killed  by  a  shell.  The 
enemy  are  paying  a  lot  of  attention  to  this  road; 
evidently  they  expect  that  reinforcements  will  go 
up  that  way.  Shells  fall  all  around,  big  ones 
that  blast  their  way  into  the  ground  with  a  mighty 
roar  and  much  black  smoke. 


GATHERING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  245 

''  That's  a  dud,"  remarks  the  Adjutant  as  a 
shell  hits  the  stack,  failing  to  explode.  Half  a 
ton  of  straw,  loosened  by  the  buffet,  falls  on  the 
head  of  the  telephone  operator  as  he  crouches  in 
the  lee  of  the  stack,  burying  him  and  his  instru- 
ment. The  signaller  is  quickly  resurrected,  and 
discovered  with  his  telephone  still  to  his  ear. 
Nothing  must  be  allowed  to  interfere  with  the 
telephone  service. 

Another  dud  strikes  the  stack,  this  time  burying 
the  Quartermaster,  who  has  ventured  so  far  to 
see  the  Colonel  about  a  pea-soup  ration,  in  an 
avalanche  of  straw.  He  is  with  difficulty  un- 
earthed, and  as  he  again  finally  attains  to  the 
light  of  day  is  heard  to  mutter:  ''  John  Macintosh, 
you've  been  seeking  excitement  all  your  days. 
Now  you've  got  it,  how  the  hell  do  you  like  it  ?" 

The  Brigade  has  been  attacking  since  dawn, 
the  Assiniboians  in  the  van,  the  Pompadours  sup- 
porting them  and  aiding  them  with  working 
parties.  The  phone  rattles  busily;  communication 
has  already  been  established  with  the  new  front 
line  that  has  been  so  lately  German.  The  ob- 
jective has  been  attained,  but  at  a  considerable 
cost. 

The  bombers  of  the  Pompadours  will  most  of 
them  bomb  no  longer.  Lieutenant  Eidge,  when 
he  came  down  to  the  dressing-station  with  his 
uniform  blown  to  ribbons  and  wounded  in  several 
places,    was   almost   the   only    survivor — he   and 


246       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

Corporal  Kobertson.  The  corporal,  when  he  saw 
that  none  of  his  own  regimental  anarchists  re- 
mained on  deck,  transferred  his  activities  to  another 
unit,  and  remained  with  them  bombing  until  the 
regiment  was  relieved. 

Private  Pollock  of  the  Assiniboians,  walking  down 
the  trench  alone  and  unarmed  but  for  a  hand 
grenade,  his  rifle  being  smashed  by  a  wandering 
bullet,  found  six  Germans  leaning  on  their  rifles 
waiting  to  surrender.  There  must  be  some  lan- 
guage of  universal  understanding,  or  maybe  it 
was  the  look  in  the  private's  eye,  for  at  a  nod 
the  six  rifles  were  dropped  and  six  docile  Teutons 
preceded  the  indomitable  Pollock  down  the  trench. 

Outside  the  dressing-station  the  tramp  of  feet 
is  heard.  A  body  of  men  appears,  the  transport 
ofiicer  at  their  head. 

''What's  this?"  says  the  Medical  Offlcer  from 
the  door  of  the  dressing-station. 

''  Stretcher-bearers,"  says  the  transport  ofiicer 
briefly. 

Half  the  transport  is  there  and  all  the  cooks, 
with  the  sergeant  chef  at  their  head. 

''  May  I  take  them  up  ?"  says  the  Padre,  as  he 
finishes  labelling  a  wounded  man. 

"  Certainly,"  says  the  Medical  Officer.  "  Rather 
you  than  me.  It  is  going  to  be  very  objectionable 
up  there.  I'll  give  you  Corporal  ElHot  to  show 
you  the  best  way.  But  what  about  your  hymn 
of  hate  ?" 


GATHERING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  247 

"  Buried,  my  boy,  in  a  safe  place." 

Another  party  appears  at  the  dressing-station; 
these  are  the  stretcher-bearers  from  the  field 
ambulance  under  Captain  McCallum,  bursting  with 
enthusiasm  and  anxious  to  clear  the  front-line 
trench.  The  Padre  departs  for  the  scene  of 
activities.  No  Cook's  tour  this,  but  a  better  use 
for  his  energies  than  a  sheaf  of  sermons. 

Up  the  main  road  and  round  the  corner  into 
Yew  Street,  where  the  Colonel  is  still  directing 
operations,  the  Padre  marches  at  the  head  of  his 
party.  The  telephone  service  still  works  un- 
interruptedly. The  Germans  are  throwing  a  lot 
of  metal  around,  and  Yew  Street  is  still  the  un- 
healthy locality  it  was  during  the  earlier  part  of 
the  day;  but  the  Padre  on  his  mission  progresses 
steadily.  The  Colonel  and  the  Adjutant  wave 
salutations  to  him  and  his  stretcher-bearers.  Here 
are  a  few  wounded  coming  out,  helping  one  another 
along,  hmping  down  the  road  and  picking  their 
way  cautiously  among  the  shell  holes.  There  is 
the  usual  sprinkling  of  kits,  some  splashed  and 
stained  with  blood,  showing  the  places  where  men 
have  already  fallen  wounded  or  dying ;  but  gradually 
the  features  of  the  landscape  are  losing  themselves 
in  the  falling  darkness. 

A  large  white  wall  looms  up  in  the  dark, 
stretching  away  in  the  gloom  to  either  side.  It  is 
the  great  wall  of  China,  the  original  British  trench. 
They  say  the  Guards  built  it  during  the  winter 


248       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

months.     Certainly,  if  this  is  so,  it  is  a  memorial 
to  their  handiwork. 

This  was  formerly  our  advanced  position,  but 
now  we  are  far  beyond.  Here  is  Captain  Cope; 
his  company  is  in  support.  The  Padre  counts  his 
company;  two  are  missing,  he  is  informed  by 
Corporal  Elliot.  Two  shrapnel  wounds;  no  doubt 
already  in  the  aid  post,  being  bound  up  and 
awaiting  shipment  to  England.  The  enemy  are 
still  busy,  and  dusting  the  barrier  with  shrapnel. 
Captain  Cope  and  the  holy  one  bend  their  heads 
before  the  blast.  It  is  a  marvellous  demonstration 
of  the  art  of  accurate  artillery  fire.  The  Bosche  is 
to  be  congratulated.  No  doubt  he  has  registered 
on  the  parapet  daily  during  the  long  winter  months, 
and  this  is  the  culmination  of  his  efforts.  Cer- 
tainly he  has  attained  to  a  very  pretty  pitch  of 
proficiency.  Just  at  present,  however,  the  Padre 
is  filled  with  anything  but  admiration  as  he  hugs 
the  sandbags,  his  head  bent  as  in  an  act  of  devotion, 
while  the  German  shells  burst  just  above  the 
parapet ! 

The  timing  is  wizardlike  in  its  accuracy;  the 
number  of  the  shells  is  legion;  but  strange  to  say 
practically  no  one  is  hurt.  The  bursting  fragments 
rain  upon  the  sandbags,  but  mostly  fly  beyond. 
Heaven  be  praised  for  the  good  work  of  the  Guards 
Brigade  ! 

Beyond  the  barrier  is  a  communication  trench, 
or  was  in  the  days  gone  by.     But  here  the  con- 


GATHERING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  249 

centration  of  hate  has  wreaked  its  will,  and 
what  remains  of  the  trench  gives  little  or  no  pro- 
tection. Scattered  along  its  channel  are  a  few 
wounded,  patiently  awaiting  their  turn,  and  here 
the  Padre's  work  begins.  Among  the  mess  of 
broken  dugouts  and  disembowelled  sandbags  is 
strewn  a  welter  of  broken  ammunition-boxes  and 
shattered  rifles,  kits,  bombs,  and  rations.  Packs 
lie  here  with  discarded  greatcoats,  thrown  away 
as  the  troops  pressed  forward  to  the  attack.  Here, 
with  the  wounded.  He  the  dead.  Not  lying  where 
they  fell,  but  hastily  placed  on  one  side,  the  bodies 
lying  on  the  smashed-up  rampart  of  the  trench, 
and  forming  a  flimsy  covering,  at  least  in  daylight, 
from  the  enemy's  sight. 

The  Padre  as  he  walks,  crawls,  and  creeps 
forward,  reflects  on  the  utter  ruthlessness  of  things. 
A  year  ago  at  this  very  hour  he  was  seated  comfort- 
ably on  the  veranda  of  his  Western  home,  a  day 
of  satisfactory  priestly  work  to  his  credit,  rounded 
ofi  by  a  satisfying  meal.  At  this  very  moment 
he  was,  no  doubt,  inhaling  the  full  fragrance  of 
his  post-prandial  cigar,  and  gazing  dreamily  and 
appreciatively  at  the  glowing  sunset  tints  on  the 
peaks  of  the  eternal  mountains  across  the  placid 
bay.  Then  in  his  well- weeded  garden,  gay  with 
the  luscious  tints  of  laburnum  and  lilac,  everything 
was  peace  and  quiet.  Troubles  he  had  none, 
beyond  a  natural  anxiety  as  to  the  direction  in 
which  the  fervid  activities  of  the  Methodists  and 


250       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

Presbyterians  might  turn,  and  the  worry  caused 
by  a  gradually  increasing  waist  measurement. 

Now  here  he  is  at  the  hour  when,  by  well-estab- 
lished precedent,  every  self-respecting  priest  would 
normally  be  digesting  his  dinner,  crawling  like  a 
cat  amid  a  host  of  horrors,  that  assail  and  stagger 
all  his  senses  at  once.  Yet,  as  he  pauses,  waiting 
for  his  stretcher-bearers  to  close  up,  he  would 
not  change  places  with  that  plethoric  well-fed 
divine  of  a  year  ago  !  Yes,  Padre,  this  is  better 
work  than  presiding  at  mothers'  meetings  or 
attending  choir  practice,  and  when  this  present 
fight  is  over  you  will  be  all  the  more  fitted  to 
return  home  and  engage  in  the  pursuits  of  peace. 
Then  when  you  face  your  flock  arrayed  in  white 
vestments,  to  minister  to  their  spiritual  welfare, 
you  will  perhaps  think  of  this  your  present  band 
of  sufferers,  and  how,  with  your  clerical  khaki 
plastered  with  mud  and  stained  mth  blood,  you 
brought  them  help  and  comfort  in  the  shot-torn 
trenches  at  St.  Albert.  But,  for  the  moment, 
the  Padre  is  pure  materialist.  His  thoughts  are 
not  of  the  good  he  is  doing — that  is  all  part  of  the 
day's  work;  but  there  is  an  all-satisfying,  self- 
sanctifying  understanding  that  is  with  him,  per- 
meating his  whole  being.  His  waist  measurement 
is  four  inches  less  than  it  was  at  the  same  time 
last  year. 

The  communication  trench  behind  him,  the 
Padre  arrives  in  a  fire  trench.     Here  Lieutenant 


GATHERING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  251 

Allonby  meets  him,  and  suggests  a  guide.  Lieu- 
tenant Allonby  has  had  more  narrow  escapes  than 
anyone,  and,  according  to  all  the  rules  of  the  game, 
should  have  already  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh,  and 
yet  is  still  very  much  alive. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you're  still  going  strong, 
Allonby,"  remarks  the  Padre,  to  the  Lieutenant 
sitting  in  the  bend  of  the  trench. 

"  Yes,  Padre;  I  seem  to  be  one  of  the  lucky  ones." 

"  Is  this  the  front-line  trench  ?" 

''  No;  there's  another.  We  took  it  from  the 
Germans  this  morning,  but  it's  unhealthy." 

The  Padre's  stretcher-bearers  are  now  busy 
gathering  in  the  wounded,  and  as  party  after  party 
of  four  returns  down  the  dilapidated  communica- 
tion trench  the  Padre  finds  his  forces  gradually 
diminishing.  Finally  he  is  left  with  Corporal 
Elliot  and  eight  bearers.  Following  the  guide 
provided  by  Lieutenant  AUonby,  he  proceeds 
onwards.  Here  the  dead  lie  thick,  Germans 
mostly.  They  fill  the  remains  of  the  trench,  and 
are  littered  on  the  sides.  To  follow  the  trench 
means  walking  on  the  dead;  so  the  guide,  followed 
by  the  Padre,  crawls  across  the  open.  The  Hun  is 
very  active;  rifle  grenades,  which  burst  before  you 
know  they  are  there,  fall  about  promiscuously 
and  with  shattering  report.  The  Padre  hugs  the 
ground  when  the  German  flares  go  up,  and  is 
finally  in  the  forward  trench.  Just  beyond  is 
X.  19,  and  up  there  is  an  old  German  communica- 


252       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

tion  trench,  half  held  by  us  and  half  by  them. 
Across  the  interval  is  a  hastily  built  parapet, 
and  over  this  our  bombers  and  the  enemy  engage 
in  a  friendly  game  of  tennis !  At  the  present 
moment  the  score  stands  at  vantage  in,  as  the 
Germans  appear  to  have  run  out  of  grenades. 
The  Padre's  bearers  are  quickly  provided  with 
burdens,  and  the  Padre,  as  he  sees  them  disappear, 
walks  along  the  trench.  Here  lies  plenty  of 
material  for  him  to  get  to  work  on;  the  object 
of  his  visit  is  for  the  purpose  of  burying  the  dead. 
A  relief  is  in  progress.  The  Assiniboians  and  the 
Pompadours  are  leaving  this  hard-won  trench,  and 
the  Mansion  House  Rifles  are  taking  over.  At 
an  angle  in  the  trench  the  Padre  finds  three  sorely 
wounded  men  lying  on  stretchers.  He  sits  on  a 
box  of  small-arms  ammunition,  and  watches  the 
relief  go  by.  What  shall  he  do  next  ?  The 
stretcher-bearers  are  all  gone;  and  there  is  still 
much  work  to  be  done.  At  the  point  where  he 
sits,  amid  the  ruins,  things  are  fairly  quiet  for  the 
moment,  but  all  around  rages  a  tempest  of  noise. 
To  right  and  left  and  over  in  front  of  him  are  the 
German  flares,  illuminating,  in  their  fleeting  bril- 
liancy, the  white  faces  of  the  wounded  men.  The 
bank  of  tumbled  earth  beside  which  he  sits  was 
once  the  front  of  a  German  trench;  now  it  is  the 
back  of  ours,  and  over  beyond  this  lies  another 
something — trench,  locality,  or  position — where 
the  fight  is  still  raging.     The  relief  is  finished, 


GATHERING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  253 

the  Assiniboians  have  moved  down  the  trench,  but 
the  Padre  and  his  wounded  still  remain.  His 
guide,  as  is  the  way  of  guides,  has  also  departed. 

''  Where  do  you  think  we  are,  Corporal  Elliot  ?" 
the  man  of  God  asks. 

The  corporal  modestly  disclaims  any  knowledge 
of  his  whereabouts.  The  Mansion  House  Kifles  are 
farther  up  the  trench,  but  for  a  hundred  feet  the 
trench  is  deserted  except  for  the  dead  and  wounded, 
the  Padre  and  the  corporal.  Suddenly  a  machine- 
gun  rattles  in  the  dark,  and  up  the  trench  a  rapid 
independent  fire  commences.  "  Here  they  come  !" 
shouts  a  voice  in  the  darkness,  and  at  once  the 
whole  line  is  a  flashing,  sputtering  blaze  of  rifle- 
fire,  all  except  the  silent  empty  gap,  in  the  centre 
of  which  the  Padre  sits. 

These  are  terrible  longdrawn  seconds,  waiting 
for  the  foremost  Hun  to  arrive,  leaping  lightly 
over  the  parapet.  How  will  they  treat  him  in 
the  German  prison  ?  He  wonders  how  he  will 
put  in  the  time  waiting  to  be  exchanged.  Will 
he  be  exchanged  ?  Perhaps  he  won't  be  taken 
prisoner.  What  about  Prince  Eupprecht  of 
Bavaria  ?  Undoubtedly  this  is  dirty  work  at 
the  cross-roads  with  a  vengeance. 

And  what  about  Lieutenant  Blair's  letters  ? 
Who  will  be  there  to  destroy  those  incriminating 
documents,  written  by  half  a  dozen  fair  but  different 
hands,  supposing  he  and  the  Lieutenant  should 
both  appear  on  the  casualty  list  ?     At  least  his 


254       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

poem  is  safe — that  can't  be  held  up  and  used  as 
evidence  against  him. 

Gradually  the  firing  is  quietening  down;  to 
right  and  left  of  him  the  noise  of  rifles  is  dying 
away.  A  cheery  voice  hails  him  from  along  the 
trench;  it  is  Captain  McCallum  from  the  field 
ambulance  arriving  with  his  party  of  bearers. 

That  night  the  Saskatoons  moved  forward  to 
the  attack.  A  deep  ditch  filled  with  barbed  wire 
lay  between  them  and  the  enemy,  but  this  a  party 
of  the  Pompadours  had  spanned  with  crazy  wooden 
bridges.  Across  these  slender  footboards  the  at- 
tacking force  moved  under  heavy  fire,  for  the 
taking  of  G.  51  or  W.  22,  or  whatever  the  unknown 
quantity  might  be.  Here  every  dustheap  had  its 
machine-gun,  and  the  storming  party  melted  away 
before  the  driving  storm  of  lead.  But  not  before 
the  object  had  been  achieved,  and  another  two 
hundred  yards  of  hard-earned  progress  made. 
The  dawn  found  the  Saskatoons  hanging  on  to  their 
newly-won  trench,  while  the  artillery  from  behind 
plastered  the  landscape,  ringing  them  in  with  a 
saving  belt  of  slaughter.  All  that  day  the  Pompa- 
dours remained  in  their  trenches,  pounded  by  high 
explosives  under  a  hail  of  shrapnel.  Casualties 
there  were  and  many,  and  of  these  some  we  could 
ill  spare.  Lieutenant  Allonby,  who  had  been 
with  the  battalion  from  the  beginning,  was  among 
the  first  to  go,  as  he  walked  along  the  trench 
cheering  his  men  as  they  hugged  the  saving  sand- 


GATHERING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  255 

bags.  In  the  afternoon  Captain  Grosvenor  was 
hit.  In  search  of  information,  he  had  gone  up  to 
the  front  hne  through  communication  trenches 
which  were  but  that  in  name.  This  was  almost 
the  worst  loss  the  battalion  could  have  suffered. 
Thus  at  St.  Albert  the  Pompadours  lost  three  more 
of  their  original  officers — Grosvenor,  Wales,  and 
AUonby.  Certainly  the  Colonel  and  Major  Cope 
might  feel  that  the  sands  were  running  out  and 
the  score  piling  up  against  them. 

In  St.  Albert  the  Padre  was  at  a  loss.  In  the 
first  place  the  dressing-station  had  disappeared. 
Some  broken  rafters,  a  pile  of  brick,  the  fragments 
of  a  stretcher,  showed  where  the  regimental  aid 
post  of  yesterday  had  been.  And  there,  buried 
under  the  pile  of  debris,  lay  the  priceless  gem  of  his 
imagination,  his  unsung  hymn  of  hate.  Mani- 
festly it  was  so  ordained,  and  thus  a  divine  inter- 
ference had  tumbled  his  hopes  with  the  falling  of 
the  house,  burying  his  poetic  fancies  in  a  downfall 
of  brick  and  mortar.  Well,  there  it  lay  and  there 
it  will  remain. 

''  The  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth,"  murmured 
the  Padre  as  he  went  his  way. 

Kound  the  corner,  at  a  strategically  selected 
distance  from  the  cross-roads,  was  the  dressing- 
station;  here  the  work  was  progressing  in  full 
swing.  Over  the  hntel  of  the  door  of  the  thatched 
cottage  the  sign  ''  Patet  Omnibus  "  shed  an  air 
of  classical  mysticism  on  the  interior.     On  a  board 


256       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

beside  the  door  hung  the  non-committal  notice, 
"  Business  as  Usual  until  the  Next  Flitting." 
The  Parson  entered  the  house  of  suffering,  but  not 
of  mourning. 

Round  the  room  were  seated  the  wounded  men 
waiting  to  have  their  hurts  dressed,  while  in  the 
centre  the  Medical  Officer  and  the  sergeant  were 
bending  over  a  stretcher  case. 

''  Cheer-oh,  Padre !  Glad  to  see  you  back," 
said  the  Medical  Officer. 

"  When  did  you  move  in  here  ?" 

''  Just  before  the  jolly  old  Germans  hit  the  last 
spot." 

"  That  was  lucky." 

*' Not  luck;  Sergeant  Bowden  was  entirely  to 
blame.     I  think  he's  got  second  sight." 

"  How's  that  ?" 

''  He  always  knows  when  the  shell  is  coming 
that's  going  to  wreck  the  happy  home;  it  v/as 
the  same  of  the  last  show.  When  he  suggests 
quitting  we  ffit  P.D.Q.  This  makes  five  times, 
counting  the  last  show,  that  we've  got  out  as  the 
shells  came  in  at  the  other  end  of  the  building. 
This  time  he  got  his  hunch  rather  late,  and  we 
lost  some  of  our  stuff." 

*'  I  don't  think  much  of  this  place,"  remarked 
the  Parson  as  he  surveyed  the  plaster  walls  and 
the  thatched  roof  showing  in  places  between  the 
broken  laths.     ''  It's  hardly  bullet-proof." 

''  No;  it's  rather  like  a  bandbox.     I'd  swop  it 


GATHEKING  IN  THE  SHEAVES  257 

for  a  haystack  any  day;  but  there's  a  good  cellar 
across  the  road  and  some  dugouts  in  the  garden." 

A  stretcher  case  was  coming  along  the  road, 
and  as  the  Medical  Officer  finished  binding  up  the 
wounded  man  in  front  of  him,  the  new  arrival 
was  in  turn  placed  before  him.  A  leg  was  frac- 
tured just  above  the  ankle,  but  the  owner  appeared 
entirely  happy.  On  the  stretcher  beside  him,  tied 
carefully  to  prevent  them  breaking  away,  were 
three  German  helmets. 

*'  Can  I  take  my  helmets  with  me  ?"  asked  the 
man  on  the  stretcher. 

''  Of  course  you  can,"  the  Medical  Officer 
replied. 

''  Thank  you.  Doctor;  I  worked  for  them." 


iT 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ALL  IS  VANITY 

Back  in  Laroche  the  Pompadours  were  comfort- 
ably occupying  billets.  Here  they  had  arrived 
during  the  night  from  St.  Albert,  rather  the  worse 
for  wear  and  with  their  ranks  sadly  thinned. 
These  nocturnal  meanderings  always  recoiled  on 
the  head  of  the  Quartermaster,  who  was  responsible 
for  seeing  to  it  that  the  night's  lodgings  provided 
for  the  regiment  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

Everybody  was  always  tired  and  dirty.     March- 
ing in  to  rest  in  the  hot  breathlessness  of  a  summer's 
night  induces  a  dustiness  and  stickiness  which, 
combined  with  sore  feet  and  thirst,  are  not  con- 
ducive to  a   glow  of  brotherly  love.     On  these 
occasions  the  medical,  machine-gun,  and  signalling 
officers  were  always  the  most  aggressive ;  they  were 
more  trouble  than  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  the 
battalion.     It   was  a   part  of  the  ethics   of  the 
Pompadours,   as    pertains    in    all    well-conducted 
regiments,  that  the  officers  would  not  see  to  their 
own  comfort  until  the  men  under  their  command 
were  all  safely  housed  for  the  night,  as  well  as 
circumstances    permitted.     Of    course,    this    was 

258 


ALL  IS  VANITY  259 

easy  for  the  company  officers;  their  men  always 
had   their  billets  allotted  first,   and  the  officers 
commanding,  on  arrival,  after  a  cursory    glance 
and  a  comprehensive  and  meaningless  sniff,  left 
their  subalterns  to  carry  on,  and  departed  to  their 
rest.     With  the  poor  old,  often  forgotten,  always 
neglected  details  it  was  different.     At  times  herded 
together,  at  times  scattered  through  half  a  dozen 
town-sites,  broken  up  in  fragments  and  jammed 
in  anyhow  at  the  last  moment,  their  officers  fumed, 
snorted,  and  at  times  swore,  not  at,  but  about  the 
Quartermaster,  forgetful  of  their  upbringing,  and 
with  merciless  disregard  to  their  own  finer  feelings. 
There  was  always  a  feud  between  the  signal- 
lers  and    the    poultice  -  wallopers.      The   Medical 
Officer  suffered  from  delusions  of  persecution,  and 
thought  they  were  perpetually  trying  to  put  one 
over   him.     He    objected    strenuously    when,    for 
reasons  of  internal  economy,  the  signallers  and 
medical  forces  were  herded  together,  and  on  these 
occasions  their  blue  and  white  arm  bands  had  the 
same  effect  on  him  as  a  red  rag  to  a  bull.     He 
would  arrive  at  the  village  where  the  regiment 
was  to  billet  in  a  tempestuous  condition  of  dusty 
clamminess,  with  sore  feet  and  a  five-dollar  thirst, 
and  some  time  after  midnight  announce  in  strident 
tones  that  the  medical  forces  were  present  and 
correct,   and  demand  that  they  be  put  to  bed 
instantly.     If  the  Quartermaster  was  absent,  his 
sergeant  would  endeavour  to  rise  to  the  occasion 


260       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

and  handle  the  situation  with  becoming  grace. 
The  Medical  Officer  would  sufier  himself  to  be 
conducted  to  the  billet.  Here  he  would  bid  his 
men  wait  outside  while  he  surveyed  the  proposed 
resting-place,  and  rapidly  summed  up  its  possi- 
bilities for  comfort.  Whether  it  was  warm  and 
dry,  stuffed  with  clean  straw,  sufficiently  ventilated 
and  giving  ample  accommodation,  was  all  the 
same;  the  quartermaster-sergeant  would  run  over 
its  manifest  advantages  as  if  offering  a  residence 
for  sale,  and  not  a  shelter  for  the  night.  It  made 
no  difference  if  it  had  been  the  Empress  Hotel: 
he  would  have  been  dissatisfied. 

"  Not  fit  to  herd  pigs  into.  Where's  the  Quarter- 
master ?"     Then  the  strafe  would  begin. 

Generally,  however,  the  Quartermaster,  with 
Highland  cunning,  gave  the  gentle  answer  that 
turned  away  his  wrath.  A  voice  would  greet  the 
Medical  Officer  as  he  arrived,  pitched  in  the  tone 
of  gentle  solicitude. 

*'  Is  that  you,  Doctor  ?  Man,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you;  I  was  just  waiting  for  you." 

The  medical  detail  would  be  halted,  and  the 
Medical  Officer  would  suffer  himself  to  be  led 
away  for  the  moment  from  the  path  of  duty  to  the 
Quartermaster's  quarters.  Here  a  bottle  of  wine 
would  be  produced  and  a  tumbler.  The  Medical 
Officer  would  be  encouraged  to  drink.  Meantime 
the  quartermaster-sergeant  would  steal  out  under 
cover  of  darkness  and  lead  the  medical  unit  to  their 


ALL  IS  VANITY  261 

resting-place.  A  few  minutes  later,  the  bottle 
being  no  more,  the  Medical  Officer  would  remember 
his  flock. 

''  What  about  billets,  Mac  V 

''I'll  show  you  them." 

The  Quartermaster  would  lead  the  way  out  into 
the  road. 

''  They  must  have  moved  on,"  the  wily  one  would 
say  in  tones  expressive  of  mild  surprise.  ''  We'll 
go  and  have  a  look." 

The  stretcher-bearers  would  be  found,  some 
with  their  blankets  spread,  some  already  asleep, 
turning  in  for  the  night.  On  these  occasions  the 
billets  were  always  ''  fine,"  ''  Buckingham  Palace 
couldn't  be  better,"  and  the  Medical  Officer  would 
depart  to  his  couch  glowing  with  self-satisfaction 
and  righteousness,  and  mellowed  with  wine  and 
filled  with  a  profound  belief  in  the  Quartermaster's 
capabilities. 

Life  was  very  much  complicated  those  days  by  the 
scientific  warfare  we  were  indulging  in.  The  gas  had 
added  greatly  to  the  possibilities  of  the  situation. 

The  orderly  room  telephone  buzzed  busily  one 
morning. 

''  Someone  to  speak  to  you,  sir,"  announced  the 
telewagger  on  duty  to  the  new  Adjutant,  who  at 
the  moment  was  wrestling  with  the  customary 
multiplicity  of  returns  that  attend  the  first  day  out 
of  the  trenches.    The  Adjutant  grabbed  the  earpiece. 


262       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

'*  Yes;  what's  that  you  say  ?  I  can't  hear. 
Oh  !  memorial  prayers.  Hold  the  phone  half  a 
minute.  I'll  send  for  the  parson.  No  ?  What  ? 
Vermin  sprayer !  Oh,  I  understand — for  the 
blankets.  Shut  up,  you  blighters !  You  might 
let  a  fellow  hear  himself  speak."  This  to  Lieu- 
tenant Black,  the  machine-gun  officer,  and  Philomel 
of  the  signals,  who  had  entered  the  orderly  room 
and  were  engaged  in  the  usual  futile  discussion 
regarding  their  respective  billets. 

''You  might  try  again;  I  couldn't  hear.  No; 
only  some  hoboes  here  who  know  no  better. 
What's  that?  Sprayer?  Yes,  I've  got  that— 
what's  the  other  thing  ?  You  might  spell  it." 
Here  the  austere  Gilbert  possessed  himself  of  a 
writing-pad,  and  exhaustively  noted  down  the 
spelling  of  the  word  that  was  troubling  him. 

''  What's  it  for  ?  Well,  hadn't  you  better  speak 
to  the  Doctor?  No;  that's  right.  No;  he  never 
knows  anything.  Thanks  very  much.  All  right. 
Good-bye." 

''  What's  that  you're  saying  about  me  ?"  de- 
manded the  Doctor,  who  had  entered  the  orderly 
room  and  overheard  the  last  remark. 

*'  Nothing,  Pills.  Only  corroborating  what  they 
said  at  the  other  end." 

"  What  did  they  say  ?" 

"  Only  that  you  knew  nothing  much  about 
anything." 

''  Who  dared  to  say  that  ?" 


ALL  IS  VANITY  263 

''  Only  the  Ordnance  Officer." 

"  What,  Maclntyre  ?  When  I  think  of  all  I  did 
for  him  when  he  was  ill !     The  ungrateful  wretch  !" 

''  Well,  that's  probably  the  reason." 

''  You  wait,  Gilbert,  until  the  next  time  you're 
sick." 

*'  What  do  you  know  about — let's  see,  what's 
the  word  ?"  (Here  the  Adjutant  consulted 
A.B.  153  B.)     ''  Vermoral  sprayers." 

"  Spell  it." 

The  Adjutant  complied. 

"  Oh,  vermoral !  That's  an  antiseptic,  used  for 
the  mouth  and  nose,"  answered  the  Medical  Officer, 
anxious  to  hide  the  fact  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  matter. 

''  In  what  cases  ?" 

''  Oh,  any  sort  of  cases.  Sore  throat,  catarrh, 
tonsillitis — any  old  thing." 

''  What  is  vermoral  ?" 

''  One  of  the  coal  tar  series,"  the  Doctor  answered 
readily,  grasping  at  a  straw. 

''  Will  you  let  me  spray  your  throat  with  it  ?" 
asked  the  machine-gun  operator,  joining  in  the 
conversation. 

''  Certainly  not.  You  keep  on  with  your  job 
spraying  the  Bosche,  and  leave  intellectual  matters 
to  myself." 

"  Well,  have  you  ever  used  it  ?" 

''  No;  it's  an  old-fashioned  drug,  and  now  hardly 
ever  used." 


264       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

"  Doctor,  I  think  you're  a  first-class  liar," 
remarked  the  Adjutant  judicially.  "  A  vermoral 
sprayer  is  a  new  form  of  frightfulness  for  spraying 
the  front-line  trench." 

"  What  with  ?  Liquid  fire  ?"  asked  the  Medical 
Officer,  realizing  that  his  blufi  had  been  called. 

''  No,  liquid  water." 

"  For  the  flies  ?" 

*'  No,  for  the  gas.  Vermoral  is  not  a  substance; 
it's  a  man's  name."  This  last  was  hazarded  by 
the  Adjutant,  who,  having  a  tall  score  chalked 
up  against  our  medicine  man,  was  anxious  to  make 
the  most  of  his  present  opportunity. 

''  Well,  I'll  have  one  installed  in  the  orderly 
room  and  keep  you  under  the  spray,"  the  Medical 
OflS.cer  replied  as  he  hastily  left  the  room. 

A  few  minutes  after,  the  Medical  Officer  was 
hastening  down  the  road  on  his  horse  ventre  a 
terre,  to  ask  of  the  authorities  that  he  be  kept 
better  informed  of  new  inventions  in  future,  so  as 
to  obviate  a  recurrence  of  the  ghastly  display  of 
ignorance  to  which  the  orderly  room  had  just  been 
subjected. 

Later  in  the  day  we  dipped  respirators  again, 
and  as  each  man  came  up  with  his  bundle  of 
engine-room  waste  in  the  funereal  crepe,  the  water 
was  blue  and  the  men's  hands  and  faces  were 
blue;  but  bluer  by  far  was  the  air,  for  the  Medical 
Officer  had  not  forgotten  his  discomfiture  of  the 
morning  at  the  hands  of  the  Adjutant. 


ALL  IS  VANITY  265 

They  were  happy  days  in  Laroche  for  the  light- 
hearted,  for  a  short  two  miles  along  the  shaded 
poplar  road  lay  our  best-beloved  Beaufort,  at  once 
the  pleasantest,  most  picturesque  and  desirable 
of  the  cities  we  had  visited.  The  serious-minded, 
however,  found  much  to  do.  Of  the  combatant 
officers  who  had  come  with  the  battalion  to  France 
three  short  months  before,  only  two  remained 
with  the  battahon,  Colonel  Meldrum  and  Major 
Cope.  The  latter  had  just  been  promoted,  and 
very  fussy  he  was  too  about  his  title.  The  trans- 
port officer  was  always  treading  on  his  toes,  by 
addressing  him  as  Captain,  and  being  threatened 
in  return  with  arrest  and  all  the  summary  penalties 
of  the  law.  Not  that  the  transport  officer  was 
much  with  us  at  this  time.  Ever  since  we  had 
known  him  he  had  always  rushed  about  like  a 
fevered  March  hare,  but  just  lately  his  movements 
had  been  more  frenzied  than  ever.  Rumour  spoke 
of  some  frantically  conceived  deals  in  horseflesh, 
and  the  Quartermaster  wandered  around  discon- 
solate and  with  his  brow  gathered  in  clouds  of 
wrath.  The  transport  officer  appeared  to  have 
perpetual  business  elsewhere,  and  the  lying  jade 
told  of  visits  to  exalted  quarters. 

''  ril  pull  his  head  off  like  a  fly,"  the  Quarter- 
master threatened,  ''if  he  gets  rid  of  any  more  of 
our  horses  for  the  skates  he's  taking  on  at  present." 

The  Quartermaster  was  very  bigoted  in  these 
matters.     He  was  a  close  personal  friend  to  each 


266       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

of  the  horses,  and  used  to  talk  to  them  intimately 
in  Gaelic.  In  his  spare  time  he  was  always  to  be 
found  messing  about  the  horse-lines,  and  the  mules 
even  were  friendly  to  him.  Those  lop-eared 
misanthropes,  who  did  more  than  their  share  of 
the  hard  work,  seemed  to  have  an  understanding 
with  him,  quite  apart  from  anyone  else.  The 
Quartermaster  alone  was  sufiered  to  approach  their 
hindquarters  with  impunity,  and  to  him  it  was 
vouchsafed  even  to  lift  up  and  examine  an  injured 
hoof,  without  having  his  brains  plastered  round 
the  transport  lines.  The  Adjutant  suggested  to 
the  Quartermaster  that  they  probably  belonged 
to  the  same  clan,  but  he  was  always  making  un- 
profitable remarks. 

The  Padre  used  to  say  that  a  mule  has  no  pride 
in  his  ancestors,  and  no  hopes  regarding  his 
posterity  !  We  always  thought  this  a  very  brilliant 
remark,  and  used  not  to  credit  it  with  being  original, 
but  the  Bishop  maintained  it  was. 

At  times  the  Quartermaster  would  talk  so  affec- 
tionately and  pathetically  to  his  four-footed  friends, 
that  the  Medical  Officer  would  feel  quite  de  trop. 
At  these  moments  he  would  go  over  and  talk  to 
his  own  steed,  the  fairest  of  the  fair.  Him  the 
Medical  Officer  called  by  the  name  of  Khubarb, 
but  whether  this  was  on  account  of  his  colour  or 
because  of  his  effect  on  the  Medical  Officer's  liver, 
we  could  never  be  certain.  His  other  horse,  the 
humble  associate  of  Rhubarb,  whose  duty  was  to 


ALL  IS  VANITY  267 

pull  the  Maltese  cart,  was  named  Ginger.  This 
was  no  doubt  on  account  of  his  associations; 
certainly  his  somnolent  eilorts  in  the  advancement 
of  the  medical  adjuncts  of  the  battalion  along  the 
"pave  roads  hardly  justified  the  choice  of  name.  The 
Quartermaster's  stud — for,  despite  establishment, 
he  never  descended  to  less  than  two  chargers — he 
christened  appropriately  Mulligan  and  Jam-pot. 

We  must  have  been  getting  suspicious  these 
days,  or  perhaps  it  was  because  of  a  tale  which 
was  going  around.  A  certain  battalion  was  said 
to  have  a  horse  of  ill  omen,  and  each  officer  in 
turn,  who  had  him  as  a  mount,  came  to  a  violent 
end.  So  certain  was  this  that  four  of  his  unfor- 
tunate riders  had  already  met  the  same  fate.  In 
the  Pompadours  we  could  only  notice  that  at 
Misere  our  late  Colonel's  horse  had  sickened  and 
died,  and  just  before  going  in  to  St.  Albert  to 
attack,  Grosvenor's  horse  was  killed  by  a  shell. 
The  Quartermaster  used  to  regard  Jampot  and 
Mulligan  with  grave  solicitude.  He  was  always 
sending  urgent  messages  to  the  Medical  Officer  to 
come  to  the  horse-lines  to  examine  their  pulses 
and  take  their  temperatures,  if  he  thought  them  a 
trifle  distrait  or  dejected !  Not  that  the  Medical 
Officer  knew  anything  about  horses,  but  there  is 
no  doubt  that  had  he  professed  to  recognize  any 
untoward  signs  of  approaching  dissolution  in  either 
charger,  the  Quartermaster  would  have  gone  sick 
instantly. 


268       MAPLE  LEAVES  IN  FLANDERS  FIELDS 

These  memories  are  written  of  things  which 
happened,  as  it  now  seems,  long,  long  ago.  The 
summer  has  gone,  and  after  it  the  winter  has 
followed  in  its  course,  bringing  with  it  in  its  train 
mud  and  cold  and  discomfort.  To-day  the  Pacific 
Pompadours  are  still  at  the  first  line,  pacific  only 
in  name.  They  are  now  a  war-worn  regiment, 
but  they  are  just  as  keen,  just  as  cheerful,  just  as 
useful  as  when  they  met  the  gas  at  St.  Jacques 
and  fought  through  the  days  at  St.  Albert.  Few 
who  are  mentioned  here  remain  with  them,  but 
there  is  still  one  there — one  whose  every  thought 
has  been  with  the  regiment  and  every  wish  for 
its  welfare.  Just  as  earnestly  as  he  has  fought 
the  Germans  so  he  has  fought  the  doctors,  and 
returned  from  spells  of  rest,  induced  by  wounds, 
more  earnest  for  the  fray  than  ever  before. 

We  who  have  known  the  Pompadours  through 
all  their  ups  and  downs,  in  periods  of  rest  and  during 
the  hurricane  of  war,  can  never  think  of  the  regi- 
ment, never  speak  of  the  days  gone  by,  without 
at  the  same  time  remembering  with  a  feeling  of 
pride  to  have  served  under  him,  honour  to  have 
known  him,  and  pleasure  to  have  been  with  him, 
our  leader,  chief  and  friend,  the  Colonel. 


BILLING   AND  SONS,    LTD.,    PRINTERS,    GUILDFORD,    ENGLAND. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA   LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE   ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 


NOV  26  1917 


^Pf^  3    1918 
"PR  23  1918 

Jm  98  1919 


DEC  0  ;]  199] 


SEP  50  "91 


50ot-7,'1( 


361025  ■''"  T^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


m^^^^l 


V^'^^^lx 


COBB^^^^^^ 


